


Lethal (wip)

by childofthenight2035



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Assault, Concussions, Deception, Derogatory Language, Disguise, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Fluff and Angst, Geographical Isolation, Lies, M/M, Magic, Mugging, Murder, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prophetic Dreams, Strong Language, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Tension, faery!Yugyeom, hunter!Jeongyeon, hunter!Jun, hunter!Youngjae, trainer!Seungcheol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:39:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23141827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childofthenight2035/pseuds/childofthenight2035
Summary: Youngjae doesn’t remember where he came from.He doesn’t know who his parents were.He doesn’t know how he got to the clan, or to the people of Signixe, but it’s the only thing he’s ever known. The only home he’s had. The only family that has looked after him.He knows he shouldn’t be ungrateful.He knows he owes them his obedience, but he can’t help but wonder.He can’t help but wonder about the world beyond Signixe.
Relationships: Choi Youngjae & Wen Jun Hui | Jun, Choi Youngjae/Kim Yugyeom, Kim Yugyeom & Mark Tuan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	1. Signixe

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is a fic that I've been working on for a while, and I told myself I wouldn't start posting it until it was completely finished, but I couldn't help myself, I wanted this out there asap, so here you are.  
> Btw, this entire fic was born from a single sentence I read somewhere or came up with, idk. And that will be revealed later.

Youngjae doesn’t remember where he came from.

He doesn’t know who his parents were.

He doesn’t know how he got to the clan, or to the people of Signixe, but it’s the only thing he’s ever known. The only home he’s had. The only family that has looked after him. 

He knows he shouldn’t be ungrateful. 

He knows he should train, and train well. Work hard. Bring glory to the clan. He hears the words every day. 

He knows he has a duty to them, to the people who raised him into such a strong, healthy, capable person. 

He knows he owes them his obedience, but he can’t help but wonder.

He can’t help but wonder about the world beyond Signixe.

He can’t help but wonder about the viewing room, and the Glass.

-

“Come on, Youngjae, don’t be such a slowpoke!” 

The boy rolls his eyes at his best friend, who’s leaping ahead of him to the docks for their swim after the morning’s training session. Junhui has always been too energetic for his own good. Youngjae wishes he could borrow some of it. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” he calls back. Jun stops and runs to him, to seize his wrist and drag him along. Youngjae is startled, but only for a moment. “Why are you so _happy_ today?” Jun huffs and pushes him toward the water.

“Why aren’t _you_?” he retorts, tugging off his training gear. “It’s your birthday tomorrow.”

Youngjae sighs, pulling his shirt up over his head and tossing it aside. “I don’t see what the huge deal is about.” He evades Jun’s splutters of protest by cleanly diving into the sea. A loud splash tells him Jun is close behind. They don’t exchange any words; they swim farther out as they normally do.

Nineteen. Nineteen years he could say he’s lived. 

Youngjae isn’t sure how he feels about his past. It’s not just the fact that he doesn’t seem to have parents. Raising children is a collective practice in Signixe anyway. Not many of them spend much time with their biological parents, but they seem to at least have a pair. Youngjae has never had any. 

He’s wondered, when he was younger, if they were there in Signixe and just refused to acknowledge his existence, but he’s long since discarded that theory. He’s concluded by now that they’re either dead or somewhere else, somewhere off the island. There’s an image in his mind, of a door opening in forest cover, but he’s not sure if it’s real or if it’s something he saw in a book. Perhaps it’s just his imagination. Still, he can’t help but wish to know. He’s been haunted by a nagging thought ever since he could speak: he doesn’t truly belong here.

His peers have made him very much aware of that. He remembers, at age seven, when the other kids were play-fighting with makeshift swords and bows, Youngjae spent time staring out at the sea and doodling in the sand. He’d never felt the need to fight, not back then, not until the others began to _notice_. Not until the children bigger and stronger than him made him feel weak enough to want to defend himself. Not until they called him bigoted words they learnt from their elders because he was different, words he was too young to understand. Not until he skipped supper regularly because he couldn’t face the matron with cuts and bruises all over his face and arms. 

But then the training began two years later and Youngjae found that playing around with wooden swords didn’t help the kids who had bullied him. Intelligence and cunning did. And Youngjae had plenty of that. Years of hearing awful things spouted at him had numbed him to the insults that the trainers threw at them, while the bullies burst into tears. Training taught them all: in the practice rooms, there’s only tactics and skill. No time for hesitation, no space for weakness.

The same kids who mocked him ten years ago are afraid of him now. 

And he’s proud of that. He's proud of the dagger he carries in his stone heart. 

They are afraid of his cold, piercing stare, unsettled by his skills that were ranked first when they passed initiation a year ago. They are afraid of his voice, his song, of the siren-like power he seems to wield with it. The elders sometimes call him ‘sweet siren’ in endearment. He doesn’t socialize much. Only Jun seems to be unaffected by him.

Hodong and the others in power aren’t very fond of him, though. He’s aware of that. Youngjae knows that he asks far too many questions, has too much curiosity for a child of Signixe. He demands to know who his parents were, doesn’t believe the fact that no one remembers how he came to be there (should he have come from elsewhere), poses too many queries about their methods of training and above all, about the viewing room and the Glass. 

He knows he’s teetering on the edge, very close to being blacklisted, and exiled. As much as he thinks the council is hiding something, he also doesn’t want to be forced out. He has no other place to go. No home but this, flawed as it may be.

Jun is splashing water into his face and he shakes these memories out of his mind. 

“Something’s coming, I can feel it,” Jun tells him, nodding out toward the open sea. Youngjae turns his head to the clear blue sky reflecting off the water. Jun seems to have a gift, to intuitively predict when a ship alights at the harbor, or when there is some attack coming, like the way Youngjae can charm people with his voice if he wanted to.

“An attack?” Youngjae asks, apprehensive. He doesn’t fancy having to fight a battle on his birthday, despite his claims of not caring about it. To his relief, Jun shakes his head.

“I think it’s our boats,” he says, looking confused. “I’m not sure. Maybe Wonho and Hyunwoo are returning.”

Youngjae snorts. “It’s about time. What are they going to say to the council, for taking so long?” Jun only shrugs absently, still staring out at the water with a strange expression on his face. Youngjae doesn’t ask what the matter is. He knows, after eight years of friendship, that if Jun wants to say something, he will just say it. Jun needs no prompter. 

Instead, Youngjae thinks what circumstances could have caused two of the best hunters they had, to spend over four months to track and kill a rogue faery. 

Youngjae spits out, the sea water leaving a salty taste in his mouth. 

Supernaturals. 

Fucking vermin.

Youngjae has heard of other clans like Signixe. The elders who have travelled tell stories about them. No matter where the clan is, there’s always something they pride themselves on. He’s heard about one that makes excellent handicrafts that they sell to the outsiders who come there to trade. He’s heard about ones that are renown for weaponry, for pottery, for books. 

Signixe is known for its hunters. 

Like all the children of his age, Youngjae has also learnt about the effect that magic has had on society. He’s read of the blood that was spilled because of supernatural creatures luring innocent humans into their lairs. Those that possess magic are a threat to them, especially when they get out of hand. He knows how dangerous they are. 

He knows that this is what he has been trained to do. 

He used to admire his seniors when he was younger, watching with fascination as they were put through initiation one by one, as they fought simulations with not a shred of cowardice in their actions. Youngjae remembers seeing them and thinking, he wanted to be like them. He wanted to be better than them. 

But now, a year into his profession, he doesn’t think it’s all that. Maturity changes his view of the world. It’s natural. It’s growth. 

The ones who’ve passed initiation have been sent to the neighboring parts, to forests on the border of the mainland or to adjacent uninhabited islands, or even to suspicious water currents. No one in Signixe lives with any type of guilt of murder. It’s the truth. He’s been successful in his few hunts, but he’s by no means a professional. His seniors tell him he’s very good at it, that he has potential to replace the top hunters when he’s a little more experienced, and he preens at the compliments. 

After all, that’s all he’s ever worked for. 

Jun still looks uncomfortable, treading water slowly, deep in thought. Youngjae scoops up some water and flings it at his face. Instinctively, Jun blocks his face and snaps out of his reverie. 

“Are you sure it’s not an attack?” Youngjae repeats, gesturing for them to get back to shore before the tide turns. 

“It’s our boats, for sure. I just don’t know if—” he breaks off, shaking his head. “I just don’t think…I don’t think they caught the faery. Usually I can tell if something supernatural is aboard, but…” He shakes his head again. Youngjae is astounded. 

“They didn’t catch the faery?” he parrots. “Are they mad, then, to return without completing their mission?”

Jun appears a bit more disturbed. “Maybe…maybe they _couldn’t_ …maybe it was too much for them.”

Youngjae can’t imagine any supernatural being too much for Wonho and Hyunwoo, but he doesn’t reply. If Jun was right, the boats would dock tomorrow. They would see then.

-

Youngjae dreams of the viewing room again. 

It’s the same one. He’s being seated outside the viewing room and two officers wearing black uniforms with the scarlet seal of Signixe approach him with a syringe in hand. They ask him to pull down his collar to administer the shot to his neck. He refuses and the guilt he immediately feels for disobeying almost wakes him up. But the dream continues. They force him. He struggles against their grip and feels pain in his neck. 

And everything dissolves. 

He wakes up, in the dream, once more outside the viewing room. He’s alone. The two officers come back, syringe in hand. He leaps up, ready this time, but they are prepared for this. Despite his effort, they subdue him and he feels the needle prick his neck.

Everything dissolves again. 

He wakes up, yet again, in the same place. He’s alone. He jumps up and positions himself behind the door through which he knows the officers will come. When they do, they stop on seeing the empty room and he uses that chance to attack them. He chooses the one holding the syringe first. The liquid-filled device falls to the floor and shatters. He slashes the officer’s neck with his blade and punctures the other’s lungs with two swift stabs. 

The light above the viewing room is green. The door is open. If only he could just reach the handle—!

A cascade of water shocks his eyes open. Then he’s coughing and spluttering, rolling over to get the stuff out of his nose and ears.

He’s drenched. 

Jun stands beside him, laughing his head off, an empty bucket in hand. “Happy birthday!”

Jun is lucky that Youngjae is unarmed. He’s not safe from his fists, however, and he darts out of the room before Youngjae stands up. 

Youngjae isn’t opposed to waking up to a bucketful of sea water. He claws at his soaked blankets in frustration because of the dream. He’s never done that before. He’s never overpowered the officers in all the times he’s dreamt of the room. He can’t blame it. Sitting outside the room and waiting for the two officers to administer the serum is all that anyone ever remembers. 

No one seems to find that suspicious. Youngjae thinks perhaps no one can remember it at all. 

What is in the viewing room? What is this _Glass_ that they speak of? What does it _do_? The leaders tell them this procedure is mandatory, per regular intervals of time, that can vary from person to person. Everyone in Signixe has seen that door. Youngjae assumes there must be people in it, too, to monitor whatever was going on inside. But no one has seen them.

He sighs, long and bitter. If only Jun had come in five minutes later…

He peels his wet clothes off and hangs them up to dry, pulling on his combat gear. Every hunter has to finish at least two hours of training a day, regardless of position. Youngjae and Jun prefer to go to the compound early, before they have their breakfast. They don’t need food so early and they don’t like the rush after the mess hall opens. Besides, the compound will be empty. The weapons are all free for them to use.

He bumps into Jeongyeon, a fellow hunter and her friends on his way out. They must be going to have their food. She smirks at him unkindly, but wishes him a happy birthday. 

He’s always found her strange like that. Unpredictable. He greets her and the rest of them, and her friends giggle. Jeongyeon rolls her eyes, as if to say, _see how pathetic they are?_ He agrees silently and they part ways.

He greets Jun in the compound with an irritated glare that simply bounces off him. Youngjae wonders if Jun would even know if he was truly upset with him. Perhaps not. Jun waits patiently as Youngjae gathers himself and raises his right hand. 

“Morior invictus!” he declares, ritually uttering the war cry of Signixe. 

“Morior invictus!” Jun mimics. Then they raise their weapons and fight. 

Jun’s fighting style is much more graceful than Youngjae’s. It’s quite a spectacle, to be honest. More often than not, the people who happen to come across Jun fighting stand fixed in place, mesmerized. Even the judges at his initiation were hypnotized. Fighting style is the only skill-trait where Jun scored higher than him, and he’s never let it go since. Jun also has several fans among the children and the women because of it; he’s generally more well-liked than Youngjae, possibly because he doesn’t question the council. He considers himself lucky to be there at all. 

But Youngjae doesn’t mind. A dancer’s grace doesn’t win fights unless they have tactics. Jun isn’t clumsy, but he sometimes (okay, several times) misjudges an incoming attack. Youngjae is blunt and straightforward with his weapons, but sneaky with his planning. He never goes wrong. His weapon set is diverse. When in a fight, he has all his weapons on him. Youngjae prides himself on his multitasking. He’s taught himself to wield both a dagger and a long sword; a shield and a bow. He knows how to use his body weight better than Jun, whose light steps are easy to trip up. 

Jun has yet to defeat him in a public duel. 

And so it is today. 

Jun claims, as they pack up and leave, “I _let_ you win today, you know that, right? It _is_ your birthday, after all.” Youngjae indulges him. He always does.

-

They eat quickly in the mess hall, taught to value each morsel of food as if it would be their last meal. Youngjae can’t deny that route of thinking. They _were_ a tribe of hunters: anything could happen at any time. There is usually peace when they come to eat their breakfast, at the last minute before the mess officers barked at them to get out; only a trickle of latecomers there. 

But today there is commotion. Youngjae can see through the windows that a mob is forming. People are shouting; some excitedly, some angrily. Jun has turned white and drops his spoon, pushing his plate away. The mess officers are talking loudly amongst themselves. They step outside the hall, forgetting to tell the two hunters off for coming in late again. 

“I think the boats have docked,” Jun whispers. Youngjae sits up, immediately abandoning his food in favour of rushing outside to join the throng. Jun follows, albeit reluctantly.

He’s right: the boats have returned. Youngjae wants to see Wonho and Hyunwoo. Perhaps they aren’t the nicest hunters to exist, but then again, hunters aren’t supposed to be nice. They are supposed to be fighters and these two are among the best. Youngjae doesn’t particularly like them, but he needs their advice, their support if he wants to become one of the elites. 

He stands with the crowd and the boats anchor. Tension brims in the crowd, people buzzing with the same curiosity he has: have they caught the rogue?

The plank lowers and people come through it. 

The crowd gasps in unison and fall silent. 

For the crewmen carry two stretchers. Two covered stretchers. 

They haul them to the dock and lay them respectfully down, stepping back to remove their caps and bow their heads. And then suddenly everyone does the same. 

Youngjae can’t believe what he’s seeing. He turns back to Jun in shock. His best friend is deathly pale and Youngjae realizes that this must be what he sensed the previous day. 

He’s gone numb. He can’t process this yet. 

An elderly woman wails from somewhere in the throng and hobbles forward, supported by another younger lady. Youngjae knows it’s their mother. She collapses on the dock between the stretchers and begins to bawl pathetically. Youngjae turns away. He can’t bring himself to see this. Two of the strongest, most skilled people they had—dead. How powerful _was_ this rogue?

Jun seizes his arm and looks at him meaningfully. Youngjae knows he wants to talk. 

“This is what you saw yesterday?” he asks once they’re out of earshot. Jun nods miserably. 

“I couldn’t believe it, that’s why I didn’t say anything,” Jun says, hanging his head. “But it’s true. I can’t believe it’s true. Wonho and Hyunwoo…” He voice wobbles at the end. Youngjae grips his shoulder firmly, shaking him out of it. Hunters don’t cry. 

“They died fighting for us,” Youngjae says, maintaining his unshakeable persona. “They died fighting against evil, for the truth. Morior invictus.” _Death before defeat._

Jun draws in a deep breath, composing himself. “Morior invictus,” he echoed. When he raises his eyes, he is calm. “The rogue is still at large, then?”

“I assume so.” Youngjae’s sorrow is slowly replaced by anger. “The bastard must have accomplices, or it must have drawn upon the power of the Devil. No honorable attack could ever kill those two.” 

-

Youngjae stews for a while longer, practicing alone in the training room to vent out his anger. He glares at his punching bag before knocking it clean off its hook. He pauses and huffs out a breathy chuckle as he remembers how Jun used to make fun of him for not having any muscle. 

_Look at me now,_ he thinks in satisfaction, lifting up the bag near effortlessly and placing it back in position. He may not be the kindest person around, but at least he can flick teeth out. 

“Youngjae.” He turns at the voice calling his name. 

It’s Seungcheol, a hunter who doubled as a trainer, one of the best. Youngjae isn’t very fond of him, but his life and livelihood is on the line. He greets him politely. 

Seungcheol scans him up and down. 

Youngjae knows he’s only there to deliver a message from his superiors, and he hates that Seungcheol looks at him like he’s some scum, like _he’s_ the one who called for him. Seungcheol likes Jun better; Youngjae knows this. He knows that Seungcheol most likely wouldn’t ever get over the time during his training when Youngjae called him out for misinformation. He holds too many grudges. Youngjae can play just as dirty.

“Hodong-ssi wants to see you,” he says flatly. He turns on his heel and leaves. 

Youngjae makes a face at his retreating back and punches the bag once more, for good measure. 

-

As he makes his way to their leader’s office, he wonders why he’s been called. He knows he hasn’t delayed his routine session in the viewing room; it’s several weeks away. He only knows Hodong to call people to his office to either give out missions or punishment of the greatest degree. 

He thinks, for a wild moment, that he’s finally been banished and panic darts through him before he manages to calm himself. They wouldn’t banish him just like that, without warning. Youngjae has only witnessed one banishing, and it’s a process that covers a good couple of weeks, where the person in question (Youngjae was too young to remember who it was) was slowly stripped of their weapons, their skills, their social status, their sanity, and only then pushed out. Now, that he’s old enough to understand more, he thinks that perhaps banishing meant death. He can’t see the leaders risking knowledge of their tribe to leak out, can’t risk enemies other than their natural rivals.

With all these thoughts in mind, he knocks twice on Hodong’s door and hears a ‘come in!’

He enters.

Hodong is not alone, he finds. He is accompanied by the commander. Youngjae bows to greet both of them. 

“Youngjae-yah, sit down,” Hodong tells him, an attempt at a warm smile on his face. He obeys. The commander has a much more genuine smile. Youngjae knows the commander likes him for his skills and his potential, though he’s also been called a pain in the ass. He looks between them nervously. Do leaders smile at future…banishees?

The commander seems to have understood his doubt. “Youngjae, we called for you to ask a favour.” _Give an order, more like,_ Youngjae thinks, but doesn’t say anything. “You are aware of what happened this morning, am I right?” 

Youngjae is suddenly apprehensive. “You mean…Wonho and Hyunwoo…”

He nods gravely. “This is quite an unprecedented event, and of course, we need to arrange for the ceremonies that need to be performed…”

 _Oh,_ Youngjae thinks, _they want me to arrange the funeral?_

The commander is still talking. “…and most of the top tier want to be involved, and so we can’t really afford to send anyone else, and you’re the best of the rest.” 

Youngjae blinks. “Send me? Where?”

Hodong is the one who replies. “To the mainland, of course. To track the rogue.”

And like that, the air escapes his lungs, leaving a hollow in his chest. “I—I’m sorry, sir, what?”

“We’re asking you to journey to the mainland and avenge our fallen,” says the commander. “You have incredible potential, Youngjae. We urge you to see that within yourself and fight for your clan.”

Youngjae stays seated, numb. It’s not fear that courses through him, it’s more of confusion. “I really hope you’re joking. Sir,” he adds as an afterthought. 

“Surely you aren’t _afraid_ , are you?” Hodong asks, and there’s a hint of mockery in it, a hint of a challenge. The commander frowns at both of them. 

“No, sir, it’s not that I’m afraid,” he clarifies. “It’s just that…is sending just one person practical? After what it did to them? If we’re going to combat it at all, wouldn’t it be more prudent to send more?”

“Are you telling me you know how to run this clan better than I do?” Hodong barks out. The commander clicks his tongue and tells him to calm down, that Youngjae is still young, to forgive him. 

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t see how this would be more successful—“

Youngjae is interrupted by the commander standing up and telling him to follow him just outside the office. With an uncertain glance at Hodong, he relents. 

Once out of Hodong’s hearing range, the commander shakes Youngjae firmly. “Listen here, boy. I’m aware that Hodong doesn’t like you much. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t be sending you at all. He would be banishing you. I convinced him to send you ahead to scout the scene.” Youngjae must still look worried, because he continues, “Look here. I’m not one to speak badly about those who have died, but Wonho and Hyunwoo were good simply because of their strength. True, many supernaturals are bound to honour, but this rogue doesn’t seem to be so. But _you,_ ” he says, jabbing a finger into Youngjae’s chest, “you have the cunning. You have the brains to plan, to observe, to worm your way into society and finally unleash your strength after learning its weaknesses. I’ve seen you duel. I know you can do this. If you need backup, all you have to do is send a message. If you find yourself on the brink of death, you can come back if you wish.” 

Youngjae isn’t usually one to let flattery get to him, but the commander had just voiced the things that Youngjae felt about himself. He takes in a deep breath and nods. The commander smiles at him and claps him on the shoulder. 

“Good man. Hodong has ordered you to set sail tonight, so you can be there by morning. Don’t let anyone know about this. Oh, and—“ he turns back to make one more statement. “Visit the viewing room before you go.”

Youngjae bows. 

_Maybe the commander is right,_ he thinks. _This could very well be my chance to prove myself, to take revenge for blood._

He turns on his heel, headed for the dorms. 

He has to tell Jun.

-

In Youngjae’s opinion, the clan’s rule of leaving for a mission in utter secrecy is bullshit. He would much rather leave with at least one person aware of it. What if something happened to him? What if he never came back? Who would raise the council to look for him? Who would remember him? 

He breaks the rule for Jun. 

In the quiet of their dorm room, Youngjae whispers to him, tells him what happened fifteen minutes ago in the leader’s office. Jun is both awed and anxious. It’s the first time they will be separated.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” he says, grasping Youngjae’s wrist briefly before letting go. “What if it kills you?” 

“Then you would tell the council to send a larger group, wouldn’t you?” Youngjae teases. “Morior invictus.” Jun grumbles the phrase in reply. Youngjae pats his shoulder. “I’ll be fine. They’ve said I can come back if it becomes too much for me. They know I’m no pro at this. I’m not Wonho or Hyunwoo.”

“Yeah, you’re not, and look what happened to them.” Jun folds his arms, cross at the new development. “You better come back like a sane man before it tries to kill you.”

Youngjae agrees, then remembers that he had not received any information about the rogue, no reports on what it has done, or its features. He would have to go back to the office and ask them for its papers. 

-

Youngjae asks the girl sitting outside the office for the papers and she doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He immediately hates her attitude. She waves him toward Hodong’s door, telling him to ask his permission. He huffs, annoyed, not looking forward to another meeting, but crosses the room with no choice. 

He reaches for the handle when he hears Hodong’s voice. Saying his name.

“If he’s lucky, he’ll get himself killed. Do himself a favour.” 

Youngjae withdraws his hand as if burned. The commander’s voice filters through the door.

“Ah, it doesn’t matter. He won’t be a loss if he does.”

Youngjae recoils fully, horrified at how coolly they played him, manipulated him into going. He swallows with difficulty, anger rising up in him. Half of him wants to barge inside and tell them that he’s _not_ going. 

But then he stops. A thought of the kind that only comes to a person when they are truly insulted, comes to him: why should he not go? Why should he make them think that he’s a coward, which he isn’t? Why shouldn’t he go, and succeed, and _come back alive_? 

“Bastards,” he whispers under his breath. “I’ll show them.” 

He turns on his heel, abandoning the attempt to ask them for the reports they have. He stalks back to the girl and clears his throat. She doesn’t even look up at him, only makes a shooing gesture with her fingers, aware that Youngjae hasn’t gone into the office. 

Youngjae takes a breath and begins to sing softly, changing his sentences into melody, telling her through the notes that he wanted the reports and that she would need to give them to him. When she hears the first note, her hands still, pen falling to her desk. She looks up at him, eyes glazed over and sways slightly. When she hears his command, she gets up silently, shuffles in a cabinet alongside the wall, takes out a folder and gives it to him. 

He sings to her gently, requests her to sit back down and return to her work, and to forget what she has just done. His knuckles tighten around the folder as he slips out of the room. He clutches the folder for a moment, pausing outside the door before concealing it in his jacket. 

Youngjae is disgusted with himself, but only for a moment. He dislikes using his siren song on people unnecessarily. Actually, he dislikes using it, period. He’s stood by the idea that everyone in the clan should have a choice as to how they react to him. Youngjae doesn’t like taking that choice away from them. It’s their right. 

But he had to, he tells himself. That was necessary. 

He takes a step forward, pauses and then briskly walks away. Halfway out of the building headed to the dorms, he remembers that he had been asked to visit the viewing room before he leaves. 

Very well. He’ll do that first. 

-

The room outside the viewing room door is empty, save for two officers who seem to be fretting away at something. Perhaps it’s the morning’s incident. Youngjae approaches them and they look up, distracted. They’re not the officers who are usually there. Youngjae has never seen them so agitated. The viewing room officers are supposed to maintain their cool all the time, what with the number of times curious youth have tried resisting. He doesn’t think they’ve ever manned the viewing room. He supposes the true officers are busy with preparations for the funeral. 

“Why’re you here?” one snaps. 

“Why else would I be here?” he retorts. 

“There aren’t any viewings scheduled for today.”

Youngjae shrugs. “Consider it a last-minute decision.”

The other sighs and fumbles around in the drawer beside him. Youngjae can tell he has barely a clue which syringe to administer. A spark ignites an idea in his mind. The officer who spoke to him huffs in irritation and grabs the correct one. “Leeteuk said it was this one, idiot.” 

Youngjae tries to hide his eye roll. 

Despite knowing which serum to inject him with, the officers don’t seem to be aware of how to _do_ it. Youngjae watches them bicker back and forth for a good minute before offering to do it himself. They stare at him suspiciously and he shrugs. He’s too caught up in his idea that he doesn’t care what they think. They glance at each other before ripping the plastic off the needle. 

Youngjae takes it from him, sits down in the movable chair in front of the door and aligns the needle with the tendons in his neck. The two officers are distracted and can’t tell what he plans to do. A mistake. 

Youngjae presses the piston, but he doesn’t let the liquid enter his bloodstream. It trickles down his neck inconspicuously and his dark training gear absorbs it at once. Once it finishes, he pretends to slump in the chair unconscious. 

He can sense the officers moving and then the chair is being pushed backwards. He hears the door open and his heart leaps. 

He’s always wanted to know.

And soon, he will. 

There must be another room behind the door. Darkness. He can sense the darkness. The officers leave him there and he hears the door closing again. 

He’s alone. 

What’s going to happen? 

He’s imagined what could possibly be happening behind these doors. But no explanation did he find satisfactory enough. He’s going into this clueless, blind. 

There’s a screeching noise and he nearly jolts. It’s soft, too gentle to be heard outside this room, but he hears it and he thinks another door must have opened. Whoever, _whatever_ came through it could surely hear how loud his heart was pounding. 

His chair is being moved, being pulled backwards again and he’s beginning to panic. 

He hasn’t thought this through. 

Who is taking him? And where? What if they can sense that he’s not really unconsciousness and tell the authorities? He might really end up banished for this stunt, after all. He doesn’t want that.

Light falls on his eyelids. It’s not sunlight. It’s too dim for that. There’s the screeching noise again. And Youngjae is tipped backward onto what he feels to be a bed? A cot? Something is pressing at his chest and with the rate his heart is beating, he thinks he’s doomed. 

Whoever is touching him lets out a strangled gasp and Youngjae knows he’s been found out. He reaches out swiftly and grasps the…hand that was pressing down. Whispers break out around wherever he is. He opens his eyes. 

It’s his turn to gasp. 

He’s staring into a face, but…

His eyes dart all around the room, taking in at a glance all sorts of eerie light and pictures moving across its pale walls. There’s so much information he’s soaking up that he doesn’t realize the person has wriggled out of his grip. 

He looks around the room in awe and in horror at the people in it. 

There are only a few, perhaps four at most. But…

The one nearest him has been fiddling frantically with a syringe and as it turns to pounce, Youngjae unsheathes his silver dagger and brandishes it in front of him. The person shrieks soundlessly, the needle dropping to the floor. 

His eyes are fierce enough to let the other three know that they shouldn’t try. 

Youngjae stares long and hard at them, but something’s off. Something about them…isn’t quite human. They seem too pale, too thin, too incorporeal, to be human. 

“What are you?” he asks at last, blade still at the ready. “What is this place? What’s going on here?”

None of them answer. He’s beginning to think they are incapable of spoken language when one of the them speaks.

“It is best if you leave now, sir,” it says. “It is only for your own good.”

Youngjae is shaking his head before it even finishes. “We can make a deal,” he tells them coldly, “you will not speak of this to anyone and in return, I will spare you your lives.” They visibly tremble at his words. 

“We are only the keepers of the Glass, sir,” another squeaks out, gesturing to the ceiling. Youngjae’s eyes follow the movement. 

High above them, in the middle of a network of crossing lines of…light? hangs a large obelisk. It’s pale, deathly white, almost transparent. It pulses irregularly and each pulse seems to travel down a line of light down along the walls. The large oval looks like a spider in the middle of its web. 

Youngjae has never seen anything like it before. No technology that he’s aware of could ever do something like this. 

It’s almost as if it’s… _magic_. 

Youngjae stills, glaring at the….the _creatures_ in the room. The four have huddled together, hands clasped in mercy. “Is this magic? Are you…those vermin?” The words leave his mouth harshly. 

They shake their heads pleadingly. “No, sir, we are just as human as you. Being in this room with no contacts to the outside world…can do wondrous things to the body.”

Youngjae gestures to the images moving across the walls. “What are these pictures?” 

They glance at one another before finally drawing up the courage to speak. “Those…those are Memories, sir.”

The word falls innocently into Youngjae’s brain and then explodes. “Memories? What do you mean, those are… _memories_?”

“Exactly what it is, sir,” they say. Youngjae takes a moment to process that. Horror slowly grows on him.

“You mean…” he can’t bring himself to say it. “Those…those are memories you took from… _us_?” They nod hesitantly, fearful of the visible rage shaking him. Youngjae can’t believe it. “So you just _stole_ our memories? For _what?_ ” He’s trembling a little, tries not to show it. “Then…then what do I remember now? Are those real? What memories did you take from us?”

They raise their hands in an attempt to evoke pity, but that has been beaten out of him a long time ago. “We do not take anything, sir; the memories are only being recorded. It is the work of the Glass. We are only the keepers.” There’s a particularly bright flash of light and the four of them jump in fear. They approach him collectively and prostrate at his feet. “It is time for you to leave, sir, there is nothing more we can tell you.” He glares at them, gestures to his dagger threateningly and sits back down in the chair. He allows them to push him back into the dark room. 

They leave. The officers open their door and drag him out. He pretends to wake up when they painfully pierce his neck with the wakening serum. 

He walks out of the building with his head in a whirl. 

He walks out a man with knowledge that no other on the island has.

-

Youngjae sets sail seven hours later, in the dead of night. 

He doesn’t wake Jun before he goes. He can’t bear to see his face, knowing that he might not see it again. He holes himself up in a cabin on board, poring over the reports he has to distract himself from thoughts of the clan, of the groundbreaking discovery he’s made and of the journey he’s embarked on. 

He finds hardly any information that could be of use to him, apart from a sketch of it and some reports that hunters before him have written. Some of them are bloodstained and he thinks they might have been salvaged by the crew when the hunter was attacked. It’s strange, because most reports of supernaturals (he’s seen them during a shift covering for a archives keeper) are more detailed than this. They even have photographs.

He knows they’ve been taught to write reports of their encounters with supernaturals and the techniques they used to conquer it, but normally no one ever asks for them. He’s always wondered why and now he supposes it’s because of…the Glass!

Youngjae inhales sharply at this realization. “Our memories…”

The Glass viewed their memories of their battles? 

Shouldn’t Wonho’s and Hyunwoo’s memories be there? But maybe the Glass couldn’t record the memories of the dead? 

_Was that why they were…killed? So their memories couldn’t be accessed?_

Were _his_ memories there? Youngjae wonders which memories of his were seen. There honestly isn’t much to see. He’s only been on a few hunts, after all. All of them swiftly and cleanly executed. 

He rifles through the pages of fading, smudged reports and finds paragraphs in at least four different hands. At least four hunters have gone to catch this faery? He narrows his eyes. Who? Who had gone before Wonho and Hyunwoo? Wasn’t the faery just wreaking havoc on the mainland? Wasn’t that how they knew?

Youngjae puts the reports back, unsettled. All of them describe the faery to have a meek appearance, tall and pale, but youthful. It is apparently very powerful, judging by the way the hunters have analysed its fighting style. He grows a little apprehensive. The reports seem to end abruptly. No conclusions, no inferences. Just brief descriptions of a single fight and then silence. 

His mind lingers on the viewing room. 

He’s still not fully convinced that nothing in there is magic. What kind of machinery could see _memory_?

There’s a knock at the door of the cabin and Youngjae hastily hides the folder back in his trunk. It’s one of the crewmen, calling him to eat. Daylight has trespassed through the windows. 

They would anchor at noon.

-

“Thank you, ma’am, have a nice day!” 

Youngjae smiles politely at the woman who just paid, hands already reaching for the groceries the next customer is placing on the belt. He works quickly, scanning the items without so much as a glance as to what they are. He doesn’t care. He only wants his wages. 

And maybe a chair to sit on, his feet are killing him. He should really ask for one. 

The past four days have been near hell for him. 

Their boat dropped anchor in a deserted place in the dreadful heat of the midday sun. Youngjae thought it was just as well, hoping nobody saw the crewmen’s trademark uniform as they rowed him ashore. If the faery, or any traitor who knew the faery saw him with Signixe, his plans would fall through at once. 

He decided on the boat what his plans were to be. 

The crewmen, like all trained officers of Signixe, know not to interfere with a hunt. They will not come ashore to help him. If he dies, they will know. Any wrong move on their part could jeopardize the whole operation. So they will stay put. 

Youngjae goes out into the world of the mainland. He’s prepared himself, done his research, fabricated his story in a way that nobody can prove him wrong. He goes around looking for a place to stay and after much begging and promises, rents out a little room in a hostel. He has all the space he needs. 

His next priority is finding a job. At least a part-time one. He intends to seem as normal as possible, wants to fit in as much as possible. From their notes, he can tell that Wonho and Hyunwoo went searching for the rogue nearly at once, fought, spent some time in hiding and got killed. 

He won’t be as blunt as that. 

He learns quickly, what to do as a cashier, how to take stock and he must seem like such a darling to the people who work there. He gets hired easily enough. He intends to bide his time well. One day or another, the faery will come to him. Until then…well, he’s going to enjoy his freedom. He’s always wanted to leave Signixe, had he any other place to go. But now that he’s here…he has half a mind to never return. 

No, he’s being foolish. They would hunt him down and force him back. They can’t risk exposure. Especially not now that he _knows_.

He wouldn’t abandon Jun, anyway. 

Youngjae scans the items rapidly, totals the bill and packs the things up in a bag while the man hunts for change. He bows, wishing the man a pleasant day and turns to the next customer. 

He freezes. He immediately hopes it wasn’t obvious.

As his fingers automatically reach for the items, his eyes lock on the tall, pale, young man inching forward. He feels a tingle in the air and he drops his gaze, pretending to blush. He’s begun his act. 

Youngjae didn’t think it would take so little time to see it. 

The faery is staring at him, he knows it. He feels a little worried. _Did I blow my cover already? Does it know who I am? Where I’m from?_ He glances up in between the groceries, coyly tucking a strand of his loose long hair behind his ear. He presses his lips together, hiding a fake smile. 

The faery doesn’t speak as Youngjae rattles off the price, stuttering in between. It only nods, pays in correct change and rushes off. 

Youngjae lets out a deep breath and realizes the employee working beside him is watching him with a smirk on her face. He sighs, rolling his eyes, regretting that he’d admitted to her that he liked men, just to play a sympathy card.

“Youngjae-yah,” she sing-songs. “He’s _cute_ , isn’t he?”

“Dahyun,” he hisses, snatching the next customer’s items to hide his (fake) embarrassment. “Stop it.”

She doesn’t let it go for the rest of the day. 

Youngjae has to admit the faery is beautiful. If only it isn’t a _faery_ , he would have even considered her proposition to play match-maker. He wasn’t lying when he said he preferred men. But he also prefers _humans_. 

Dahyun doesn’t need the specifics.

-

_Day Four._  
_Description: tall (six feet?), pale, young (accordance with previous reports), had glamours up, bears no signs of previous attack wounds._  
_Encounter 1: at the grocery store check-out. Felt its observation, did not speak. Whether disguise is seen through—unknown. Act of vulnerability begun. Will not initiate search as of yet._  
_End of report._

Youngjae’s heart stops momentarily as he reads his brief report again. He will never admit it, but having to write them makes him afraid of his own fate, judging by what happened to the others. He makes a quiet vow to write his reports as diligently and accurately as possible, giving the next hunter adequate information about how to kill it.

“Morior invictus,” he whispers, then turns out his light.

-

Three days later, he sees it again. 

He notices that it slides into the short line in front of _him_ , and not any other cashier, despite Dahyun popping her chewing gum and sending off her last customer. It could have gone to occupy her, but it didn’t. 

Youngjae wonders if that means anything. 

As the people in front of it leave and it gets to him, holding only a can of soda and some apples, Youngjae gets very publicly “nudged” by Dahyun. His cheeks turn red. 

“Ah, hello again,” he says reluctantly, taking the two items and scanning them. “Will that be all?”

The faery’s eyes slide from his flushed face to Dahyun’s smug grin in the adjoining aisle. “You…you remember me?”

Youngjae pretends to blush (it’s not _too_ hard, he’s already embarrassed because of Dahyun) and mutters quietly that it was because he was very beautiful so he remembered him. He can hear Dahyun’s gasp of excitement and wishes the earth would swallow him up.

“Oh.” The creature lets out a nervous laugh and Youngjae can see that red is creeping up its neck. There’s a loud cough from beside them and they jump, startled. A large, pot-bellied man is standing behind the fae, holding a six-pack of beer. Clearly waiting for the show to be over. Dahyun snaps her fingers at the guy impatiently and directs him one counter over. 

Youngjae is mildly grateful. He’s surprised that the fae doesn’t invoke immediate disgust in him like it did in Signixe. Perhaps it was the glamour that hid his true nature. 

It’s nearly tomato red by now, hurriedly asks for the total. Youngjae tells it the price, it pays and then flees the store. Dahyun is still cussing out the man who interrupted them. He’s retaliating with homophobia. Soon enough, the argument would escalate and he would get dragged in.

Youngjae shrugs his vest off. 

He thinks he’ll take his break now.

-

_Day Seven._  
_Encounter 2: at the grocery store check-out. Did not approach any other counter despite there being vacant ones. Unknown reasons. Showed vulnerability to compliments. Spoke. Higher register voice. Blushes easily. Glamour not dropped. Shows curiosity, possibly realized romantic/platonic intentions. Will not initiate search as of yet._  
_End of report._


	2. Faery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we see life from the faery's perspective.

Yugyeom would say he generally lives a peaceful life. And he did. 

Up until eight months ago. 

He can’t drop his disguises in public. He’d rather not commit suicide that way. He only allows his glamour to fade once he’s safely home. He doesn’t like seeing himself in the mirror any more. Not with those healing wounds that don’t let him forget. Mark says he’s gotten too thin, lost too much weight, hasn’t been eating enough. How can he? With people hunting him all the damn time? And the runaway he’s housing? 

So he’s already stressed. He doesn’t know where the food he eats is going. 

And now _this_ happens. 

He’s already talked to Mark about it, and Mark tells him to bring the guy to the shop if he can, and if that means pretending to ask him out, so be it. Yugyeom is much too shy to, but he admits that his flatmate has a point. He doesn’t even know the guy’s name. 

If he disappears, who would be to blame? Yugyeom.

Mark insists on him coming to the coffee shop once a day, just to make sure he’s alright. Yugyeom knows it’s just another one of his tactics to persuade him to start working there. He’s not that stupid. He knows Mark too well for that. Mark is plenty aware that Yugyeom can handle an attack on his own. But he obeys, since it’s Mark. 

Mark, who’s been looking after him since he was nine. Mark, who worries too much and loses temper far too quickly. Mark, who he loves with all his brotherly affections. 

He’s exiting the shop with his usual order of coffee and rounds the corner when he gets a whiff of a particular scent that’s been haunting him recently, and bumps into someone, spilling his drink all over them. 

Not just _someone_. The cashier from the grocery store a couple streets over. The—

“I’m so sorry!” The young man bursts out. “I didn’t mean to make you spill your drink!”

 _He seems so young,_ Yugyeom thinks. _My age? Maybe even younger? He looks so scared and lost!_

“I’ll pay for your drink,” the boy was saying, and Yugyeom comes back to his senses. 

“Hey, no!” He exclaims, notes how the boy flinches. “What are you talking about? I’m the one who spilled my drink all over you! And your shirt is ruined! Dammit, I’m so sorry.” He’s rambling now. “Hey, my friend’s coffee shop is just around the corner, there’s a bathroom there, you can use that; clean yourself off.” He winces as the other just stands there, confused. He gestures kindly to follow him, tossing his nearly empty cup into a trash can nearby. 

The boy stumbles alongside, hesitantly entering the shop after him. Mark’s sharp senses have already alerted him of the new presence. He glances up immediately. Towering behind the newcomer, Yugyeom mouths to Mark, _this is him, the guy I was talking about!_

Mark’s eyes widen marginally and he waves them over. 

Yugyeom explains quickly what happened and asks if the boy could use the bathroom. Mark doesn’t object. 

“What’s your name?” he asks gently. The boy seems taken aback by the words. 

“I—My name is Youngjae.” He has a rich voice, a beautiful voice, and Yugyeom’s suspicions are nearly confirmed. There’s just one last thing…

“Well, Youngjae, I’m so sorry that this idiot went and spilled coffee all over you, but you can use our bathroom. The door is over there, you see it? Go on, it’s okay.”

Both of them watch the boy’s retreating figure as he trips his way into the back.

“This can’t be good,” Mark murmurs. “I don’t know if we can handle another one. It’s not safe.”

“Maybe he isn’t,” Yugyeom protested, hoping against hope, for Youngjae’s sake, at least. 

Mark doesn’t reply. Yugyeom hears everything he needs to from his silence.

-

Youngjae rubs the drying liquid off his shirt, light-headed in ecstasy. He thinks that perhaps the faery actually didn’t know who he was and was genuinely curious because of…well, because of any other reason. And the friend…he isn’t sure if the friend was fae, but he certainly looks it, with those pointed teeth and thin build. 

(Youngjae is blissfully unaware of the conversation that is going on outside between the two. Perhaps, if he knew, he wouldn’t be so keen on this mission.)

He steps outside, sees the faery sitting on one of the stools by the counter, talking to his friend. They catch sight of him and beckon him over. He hesitates, but does so.

“Hello, Youngjae,” the friend behind the counter says. “Glad to see the coffee came out. Well, mostly.” He gestures for him to sit and Youngjae clambers onto a stool. “My name’s Mark. And this,” he points at the fae, “is Yugyeom.”

 _Yugyeom._

Youngjae is elated. None of his predecessors were able to obtain anything more than physical descriptions of the rogue. He found out his name. And his friend’s name. And the coffee shop they frequent. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, Yugyeom-ssi,” he says, just to apologize, just to make them think he’s polite and naïve. “I’ll pay for your coffee—”

“No way, I’ll buy you a coffee for your inconvenience—” Yugyeom begins, but Mark cuts them both off, placing two cups onto the counter. 

“Shut up, both of you,” he retorts. ‘I’m giving you drinks on the house.”

His expression prevents them from arguing. 

Youngjae takes in his surroundings. The shop is well lit, walls painted in quite the selection of bright colours. It’s mainly nature that daubs itself there, with floral imprints and designs. The little chairs grouped around tables match the murals well. He’s not too familiar with fae and their preferences, but seeing as they are creatures of nature and of the air, he thinks the décor is rather suitable. 

Mark must notice him eyeing his shop, because he asks, “Do you like the shop? Isn’t it pretty?”

 _Pretty._ That must be the word he’s looking for. 

Youngjae nods through his sips. “It really is.”

Yugyeom turns a bit on his stool and points up to a stretch of wall that meets the ceiling. “That’s my favourite part of the artwork.” Youngjae follows the direction of his finger with his eyes. 

Close to the ceiling, in an elaborate script that seems ancient, is some writing. Youngjae’s never seen anything like it before. It’s in English, but it takes him some time to decipher exactly what it says. 

“Everything is not what it seems,” he reads to himself, not realizing he is perfectly audible to the new acquaintances he has made. He doesn’t see them exchange alarmed looks, nor Mark’s quick hand gesture across his throat. 

“Anyway, Youngjae, right?” Yugyeom says, and he turns back to them. “We haven’t seen you around before. Are you new here?”

Youngjae has expected to be interrogated. Fae, especially ones under attack, don’t tend to be very trusting. He’s prepared with his answers. He’s ready. “Ah, yeah.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “Yes, I mean. I am new here.”

“Where did you come from?” They’re posing it very politely, as if they are genuinely curious. Youngjae hopes they are. 

“Oh, um…” Youngjae tries to look abashed. “I was in, uh, Kyoto? Japan?” When they nod, he goes on. “Yeah, so, I was there since I was born, I think. And there’s never been any problems, but then their regime changed and so, um, they’ve been asking for documents from everybody, you know, to prove that you’re a citizen and all that.”

Mark snaps his fingers. “Oh, yeah! I heard about that.” Yugyeom raises his eyebrows at his friend, as if to ask, _really?_

Youngjae bites his lip nervously. “Yeah. Well, I have any documents, and I didn’t have anyone to vouch for me, that they believed, so…” He shrugs. “I really thought they would kill me or arrest me, but I only got deported.”

Their eyes widen. 

“That’s terrible!” Mark cries out, setting down the jar he is holding. “How can they do that?”

“The law says so.” Youngjae draws his shoulders in.

Mark teeters on the edge of speech, then gives in. “How…how old are you, Youngjae?”

“I’m nineteen.”

“That’s so young!” Mark jerks his head in the other’s direction. “Yugyeom is going to turn nineteen soon, too. Ah, must be nice to have someone your own age.” He clicks his tongue and Youngjae smiles forcedly.

“What about your parents?” Yugyeom asks, hesitant. “Where are they?”

Youngjae, sipping a bit more of his coffee, says, “Oh. I never knew my parents. There was a priest at the church, he taught me to read and write. He was a great man.” Seeing the two exchange glances, he thinks that perhaps they feel sympathetic. He grips his mug in one hand and waves their concern off with the other. “Ah, it’s okay, I’m used to it. Family never had the same meaning for me, anyway.”

There’s a bit of a silence. Mark breaks it. “So you work in the grocery store, right? Gyeom told me.”

Yugyeom stiffens when Youngjae looks over at him. “Ah. Yeah, I do.” 

“You know you can always work here, right?” Mark’s sudden offer throws both Yugyeom and Youngjae off guard. 

“Hyung?”

“Wait, what?” Youngjae is utterly confused. “You hardly know me. Besides, I already have a job.”

“I know you have a job,” Mark parrots, gaze flicking to the faery and back. “But—no offense—you seem to have been through a lot already, and grocery stores don’t always treat their employees right. And,” he smiles a little sadly, “I’ve taken a liking to you. I would hate to see something happen.”

Youngjae truly doesn’t know what to say. Is that a hidden threat? He inclines his head, thanking them wordlessly. Yugyeom seems to have fallen silent as Mark enquires whether he has a phone (he doesn’t) and as he scribbles down both of their numbers on a tissue and hands it to him with instructions to call if he ever needed anything. 

“You’re welcome here whenever you want to,” Mark tells him. 

Were supernaturals this _nice_? It’s probably false politeness, sugarcoated words to lure him into their circle before finishing him off so nobody would know. How clever! How clever to ask him to work there, so no one would notice his absence! If he went missing at the grocery store, at least Dahyun and his boss would investigate the matter.

Youngjae puts his act up again, inwardly seething with rage and disgust. “I didn’t know people here were so nice,” he says, and he can nearly see Mark’s stone heart supposedly _melting_. “And just because of some spilled coffee.”

“It’s only _us_ who are nice, okay?” Yugyeom pipes up suddenly, drawing Youngjae’s attention back to his original target. “Don’t go around trusting people just because we’re not mean.”

Youngjae allows a small, coy smile to creep across his lips. “Okay.”

-

His report for Day Eleven is long and ecstatic, infused with a smug tone. He can scarcely believe he got into their good graces so early on, but he’s still cautious. He’s not sure they know who he is. It couldn’t end well for him if they did. He doesn’t want to have to break into a forward battle so soon, when he doesn’t know the opponent’s strengths or weaknesses. He would much rather wait until he’s entered their trust circle. 

Why else would they try to convince him to befriend them? Surely they weren’t so nice out of _habit_. Laughable. He’s never met nor heard of a faery who didn’t attempt murder within thirty-six hours of contact. But then again, he’s been careful not to let them suspect anything. 

He’ll put Mark aside for now. 

He’s very curious as to how Yugyeom defeated and killed those two (or four?) hunters without looking worn at all. It’s probably the glamours, but he knows firsthand that the weapons they use can burn right through those false disguises the fae put up. How powerful _is_ Yugyeom?

He _looks_ too soft to be a danger, but Youngjae knows better than anyone that appearances can be deceptive. Yugyeom is still a rogue supernatural and must be put down. 

_Will not initiate search as of yet._  
_End of report._

-

Youngjae doesn’t go _looking_ for them now. Even when he’s free. Even when he feels like, yeah, he could use a cup of coffee. But, sometimes, when he’s _passing through the area_ , he’ll stop by the café for a drink. He’s dotting his visits sparsely, slowly increasing their frequency so they can think he’s beginning to enjoy their company. 

He finds that even if Mark isn’t behind the counter handing out drinks and taking orders, Yugyeom often is.  
(Youngjae doesn’t know that Yugyeom’s started working there at last, in hopes of seeing the new cashier boy barely months older than him. Even years of Mark’s persuasion hasn’t achieved this feat.)

Yugyeom doesn’t talk too much to him, only shows a quiet sort of protectiveness, the shadow to Mark’s light. Mark’s the one who asks if he’s eating well, if his boss and customers are treating him nicely, should we go down there and give them a talking to? But Yugyeom listens to all this, searches Youngjae’s face for something, narrows his eyes at his sunken cheeks and dark circles and chapped lips, and pushes over some pastry or sandwich for him. He doesn’t take his eyes off Youngjae until he’s eaten every last bit. 

Mark says he hates hearing about horrible customers and repeats his offer of a job there, but Youngjae persistently declines. 

“I should learn to toughen up,” he tells them, watches Mark’s eyebrows bunch up in disagreement. Neither of them protest, but he notices, on his way back to his room, a note scribbled on his coffee cup that reads, _I don’t think anyone, especially you, should have to “learn to toughen up”. The offer stands whenever you want to take it._

It’s not the neat print on the tissue bearing phone numbers that Mark gave him during his first encounter. It’s a messier scrawl and (perhaps he’s exaggerating) but Youngjae thinks the letters seem to be written in air. It has to be Yugyeom. 

He writes his report for Day Thirty-three, growing steadily heavier at heart. It’s been over a month and he hasn’t made enough progress to overpower it. He reminds himself that Hyunwoo and Wonho took over four months and then came back dead. He’s done far better. 

He seals his report and keeps it aside with the others he couldn’t send. 

He sighs, wondering what on earth it could be. 

Each week, he would journey to his crewmen and give them his reports, to be sent back to Signixe. But recently, he’s felt…something. A presence. Whenever he leaves his hostel building, whenever he walks along the streets in the open, he can feel someone’s eyes on him. Watching him. It doesn’t follow him into any building, but…the fact that someone knows where he goes and who he talks to unsettles him. 

It’s supernatural. That’s for sure. 

He’s never seen any recurring figure following him, but he’s also been smart enough to not publicly look around for it. An ordinary person probably couldn’t sense it, and that’s what he’ll maintain. 

It’s not fae. At least, not quite. It’s definitely not Yugyeom. Or Mark, though he doesn’t seem to have a tangible magical aura. He thinks he would recognize it if it _were_ his target. 

He’s begun to think that there are more, that there is a whole coven of these creatures, hidden away, whose only contact with the mortal world is Yugyeom and Mark. He can’t help but wonder, that if these two are merely gatekeepers, what beings he would find inside it. How many of them are there?

He’s not afraid of his stalker. If it attacks, he can hold his own (he hopes), and then he’ll blow his cover and will have to attack Yugyeom, but if it’s only observing him, he can live with that. It’ll be a mild inconvenience, but it will have to do. Is it Yugyeom’s acquaintances who were stalking him? Or other creatures altogether? 

Are his days already numbered?

-

He’s returning to the hostel one night when it happens.

He was held up in stock, because Minghao misplaced an unopened cardboard box of beer, having misread the words printed on it. The manager’s assistant gave the poor kid a severe talking to until someone let him know Minghao is from China and not fluent in the language yet. He’s the only employee junior to Youngjae’s meagre experience, and because Youngjae intercepted the assistant manager before things got too out of hand, Minghao has declared eternal gratitude. He’s surprised that the boy invokes pity in him. He’s not used to feeling pity for someone. 

Besides, it was pay day, and since Youngjae doesn’t yet have a bank account there, he received the little wages he earned in cash. Not a good idea to walk around the streets at night with a wad of money in his pocket, but Youngjae has no choice. He has to get to his room somehow. He’s nearly grown accustomed to the eyes watching him by now.

It doesn’t take long before he stumbles across the wrong sort of people.

Four men, scraggy and dirty and bigger than he is, stop him with rough actions. Youngjae tries his best to squirm out of their hold, but their grip is too strong. He can fight his way out of this, and he nearly does, when he remembers that there is someone watching his every move (and they were probably reporting to Yugyeom, for all he knew). He can’t fight this one. He’ll have to let them have their way. He doesn’t like it, but he’s made far too much progress already to throw it away. 

He does the common thing, and attempts to shout or scream, but they cover his mouth with large grimy hands and he struggles. He hears them saying things, asking him questions that he can’t understand well enough to answer. He feels their hands intruding his personal space, groping around for what they want—his wallet. He jerks his leg upwards and his foot connects with a crotch. 

He hears a roar of pain and the next thing he knows is the dislodging of one of his teeth as a fist nearly cracks his jaw into pieces. The sheer pain of that blow wouldn’t have hit so hard back in Signixe, where he practices every day, but he’s lacking a little bit today. He puts up his fists, still determined to give as good as he got. Whoever was watching him, whether it reports to Yugyeom or not—his story is that he lived on Kyoto’s streets, which gives him enough excuse to know basic fighting. 

He hears a crack and he thinks something is trickling down his skull. He’s not sure if the excruciating pain in his head is because it’s been split open, but thinking about it makes it feel worse so, he doesn’t. His arms are over his head and he’s curled in on himself. Momentum flings him this way and that as his attackers get him on the ground. He can taste blood. He no longer knows where the pain is coming from. 

Through his blurry vision, he can see dark figures looming above him, silhouettes against the lone street light. Their boots are still connecting with his flesh, but he doesn’t feel it. 

There’s a scream, and the feet are not kicking him. 

He blinks, on the verge of losing awareness. Through his eyelashes, he sees one man’s chest erupt in blood, as if he was stabbed in the lungs. But no one is there…? 

Perhaps he imagined it?

Liquid spatters across Youngjae’s face. It smells like blood, and he loses consciousness. 

-

Youngjae is pulled in and out of his dreams. 

He dreams of Yugyeom. They’re in what looks like a wheat field, but he knows, vaguely, that it’s not actually a wheat field, but an abandoned parking lot somewhere. Yugyeom is speaking, but not to him. Youngjae’s sure that what he’s saying isn’t English, but he also knows that if he paid attention, he would understand whatever language it is. Yugyeom stands beside him, but he doesn’t seem to realize Youngjae is there. He has his hand out, palm up, facing the stalks of wheat as if asking them for something. That’s when Youngjae sees the rippling. It’s a windless day, but the stalks are moving irregularly, as if something is running through them. Something about the rippling seems familiar to Youngjae, something about it is magic. Familiar magic. The rippling comes closer and closer, and Youngjae’s heart skips a beat in anticipation. Just as the creature approached them, only a second away from revealing itself, the dream changes.

He’s running alongside Jun, towards the open sea, like they usually do after their training sessions. Jun has his arms out, letting the wind fling his clothing back like a cape. Youngjae can feel the breeze, it’s too realistic to just be a dream. For all he cares, he’s actually there. They jump into the water without a care and swim around, ecstatic. 

Youngjae hears a yell and turns around to see Jun dipping underwater too fast for it to be his own doing. He’s been pulled under. Youngjae panics, diving under the surface to find out what happened. Jun’s being dragged down further and Youngjae just barely manages to grab hold of Jun’s hand. He pulls upward, hard and Jun comes, so easily. 

But they break the surface and Youngjae shouts in surprise. 

He’s not looking at Jun. He’s looking at Yugyeom. Yugyeom gasping for air and shaking himself, as if he’d been the one who nearly drowned. 

Youngjae wakes up to too much light, head spinning; he rolls over trying to make it stop and sees…a bucket? in front of him. This is enough to trigger a reflex and he vomits, loudly and messily. He can vaguely hear movement but he doesn’t care at the moment. He retches through the last pulses of nausea and flops onto his back, eyelids already drooping. Everything goes black as he drifts out of consciousness.

He dreams again. 

He dreams of the viewing room, but this time there are no officers. The light above the door is green; it’s open. He doesn’t want to go back there, but he does. He opens the first door, then the second. He looks around for the four unsettling beings he encountered the last time, but the room is empty, save for the obelisk on the ceiling and the files scattered around. He moves closer to the nearest one and picks it up. It bears his name. Shaking, he turns the page over. 

But then he’s not looking at the file. He’s looking at the walls, where images are flashing in front of him. He recognizes most of them. It’s him and Jun fighting, dueling, swimming, eating. Then it’s him alone, as a child, staring out at the sea. Then it’s a stormy night, a scene that Youngjae doesn’t recognize. He leans forward and is plunged into the memory. 

He’s in darkness. In what looks like a dark cellar. Rhythmic movements tell him he’s on a ship. He stands up, stumbling around and finds his way to the deck. A ship in quite bad condition. He doesn’t recall this particular scene. Where is he?

_Is this really my memory?_

The ship looms out at sea. It’s being tossed around in the waves very harshly. The sails are down. The ship doesn’t seem like it’s under control. The waves are rough, too rough. 

There’s land in front of them, and Youngjae panics. They would crash soon! Where were the crewmen? Why weren’t there any people on board? Is this a ghost ship? He tries moving around more, but the scene begins to blur at the edges, as if some parts were restricted.

Youngjae looks out at the approaching land, terrified that he would die in a dream, in a memory, and with a start, realizes that it’s Signixe. 

Barely moments later, the ship runs aground and topples. Youngjae is thrown below deck, nearly escaping hitting his head or getting impaled.

The ship is destroyed. It must have crashed into rocks at sea. He think it’s very lucky it made it to shore. 

There’s a man outside, he can see a man there, taking the lead to break down the dilapidated wood to search below deck for people. Youngjae jolts when he sees who it is. 

Jun’s father. 

But this is _his_ memory?

He pushes himself up and runs right up alongside the man, follows him as he pushes and pulls his way inside. They find a bundle of the sails, torn and dirty, and then Youngjae sees what’s under the sails and he gasps. 

Huddled there is a man and a child hardly a year old. 

Jun’s father immediately kneels to examine them. The child seems quite alright, but the man…one look and Youngjae knows he won’t make it till morning. His face is covered with scars, and there’s a deep wound in his chest that has stained several feet of cloth with red. The man, the dying man, lifts the tiny bundle swaddling the child with his last remaining strength. Jun’s father hastily takes the baby from him, but the man’s bloodstained fingers grip the blanket tight.

“My son…” he croaks, eyes flickering in and out of focus. “Please…my son…Young—Youngjae…” His eyes slide and his hand falls to the wood with a thunk. 

“Rest well, sailor,” Jun’s father murmurs. “Your son is in good hands.”

Youngjae stands there. Numb. He can’t process this. 

He stands there, where Jun’s father kneels clutching the bundle. Stands there, where his father died. Stands there, watching his own tiny self, open its wide eyes, still silent. 

He stands there as Jun’s father bows his head, rises and ducks out of the ruins. Stands there, as the mob rush to ask questions. Stands there, as he hears himself being declared a child of Signixe. 

He doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stand there and gaze upon his father’s face. The face that he couldn’t see before death. The man looks peaceful now. Almost as if he’s sleeping. 

He wants to etch this face into his memory again. He never wants to let it go. 

But the scene is fading, blurring right in front of him. He looks around, horrified, realizes that whatever happens henceforth is not in his memory.

He’ll never know. He may never see this face again. 

Youngjae opens his eyes, gasping, a buildup of tears slipping out and rolling down the side of his face into his hair. There’s still too much light. His head is throbbing. He attempts to sit up, but finds that the nausea it causes is something he could live without. This is so dangerous, what he’s doing. He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know who else is here. 

_No,_ he corrects himself. _Yugyeom’s here. Of course he’s here._

“Youngjae?”

And there it is. His savior has arrived, he thinks bitterly.

He opens his eyes again slowly, and sees Yugyeom peering into his face, expression worried and concerned. “Youngjae?” He asks again. “Can you hear me?”

 _I must have been concussed,_ he realizes. _He’s checking if I’m back to my senses._ He blinks, once, twice. Stretches his fingers, wiggles his toes. He’s okay. His head is throbbing, and his jaw is a little sore from getting punched, but he’ll be okay. 

He cautiously raises himself, palms slamming into the mattress behind him to support his weight. Yugyeom reaches out and grasps Youngjae’s forearm to help him up, but that physical contact has Youngjae panicking, ripping his arm from the other’s grip, biting his tongue to keep the expletives from bursting out. 

_Fucking vermin. How dare he touch me?_

But Yugyeom respects that Youngjae doesn’t want to be touched, withdraws his hand without a word, just acceptance, but he catches the hurt look that flits across the faery’s face. Mildly worried that he might have pushed Yugyeom too far away, he asks, making his voice sound hoarse, “What happened? Where am I? All I remember is leaving the store to go home last night…?”

Yugyeom’s eyes soften in pity. “Ah, you…you were mugged, Youngjae. Alley thieves. It’s not a good idea to go walking around late at night.” His voice is gently scolding. Youngjae averts his eyes, hangs his head in shame. 

“I know, I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t have a choice, I got held up at the store—“

“No, Youngjae, I’m not yelling at you for doing something wrong,” Yugyeom hastily says, fingers twitching like he’s holding himself back from hugging him or something. “I didn’t say that to make you apologize. It’s just…that’s how it is here. You must know, right, from Kyoto?” 

Youngjae nods absently, tentatively touching his head, feeling around for a source of pain. 

“You were bleeding when—“ he breaks off, correcting himself. “Ah, I mean, when you came here.”

“I came here?” Youngjae asks, blinking. “How? I don’t remember…”

Yugyeom looks sheepish. Youngjae wonders what he’s been hiding, what he’s going to say. “Actually, about that…” He scratches the back of his head. “I…uh, actually, I asked a friend of mine to keep an eye on you. They’ve been watching you for a while. I’m…sorry for not telling you.”

Youngjae is silent for a moment, letting this confirmation sink in. So the eyes he’s been feeling _were_ connected to Yugyeom. He’s thankful he didn’t slip and do anything he would regret. “Your friend…was watching me yesterday? They saw what happened and brought me here?”

“Not just yesterday,” Yugyeom mutters, “but yeah. They saw it.”

Youngjae squints and pretends like he’s slowly remembering the events of the previous night. “Wait, someone stopped them from hurting me! I think. Maybe I was imagining it…Was that your friend?”

Yugyeom bites his lip nervously, as if he didn’t expect Youngjae to be a witness for his “friend’s” intervention. “Um. Probably, yeah.”

“Did they get hurt?” Youngjae asks, anxious. “Fuck, I’m so dumb and careless, if I hadn’t gone there alone, nothing would have happened! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…Are they okay?”

Yugyeom is staring at him, open-mouthed. Youngjae holds the gaze.

“…What?” he asks, finally, tired of the intensity of the exchange. “Why are you looking at me like that? Am I right? They got hurt?”

Yugyeom unsticks his throat at last. “You got assaulted last night, and you’re worried about my friend?”

Youngjae is quiet for a moment. “Shouldn’t I be?”

The faery shakes his head quickly. “Never mind. Yeah. No, he’s fine. My friend is fine.”

Youngjae just realizes he’s been sweating profusely when a drop runs down the side of his face. He reaches up and wipes it away with the back of his hand. “Could…could you tell him…I said thank you? No, would it be better if I told him myself?”

Yugyeom stands up and retrieves a tissue for Youngjae before he answers. “I’ll let him know. I don’t want you to bother your head about anything right now. Not work, not anything.”

Youngjae isn’t sure what that means. “But I have to go to work. My head doesn’t hurt that badly, I’m fine, honestly!” Yugyeom intercepts his attempt to stand up by pushing him back down by the shoulders, then snatches them away as if remembering Youngjae’s previous reaction to his touch. 

“You’re staying here until I say you can go,” he says firmly, and Youngjae feels a change in the atmosphere, like the sealing of a bond. Yugyeom doesn’t listen to any more of Youngjae’s protests, coolly leaving the room after warning him not to get up. 

A smirk dances across his lips once the faery closes the door. 

Of course he’s staying, somewhere he can keep an eye on his target. Might as well explore its living situations while he’s at it.

Where else would he go?

-

Three hours later, just when Youngjae is debating whether to get up or not, whether to find food because he’s starving, the door opens and Yugyeom walks in, carrying a bowl of something that smells delicious. 

Youngjae’s stomach flips in anticipation. He stretches his neck eagerly to see what’s in the bowl. 

“It’s soup,” Yugyeom answers his unspoken question, cautiously sitting on the edge of the bed, a safe distance from him. Youngjae makes a face, and he laughs. “You have to, it’s not a suggestion.”

Youngjae sighs dramatically but reaches for the bowl and spoon that the faery is extending toward him. “Okay.”

Yugyeom watches unblinkingly as he slurps the broth. It doesn’t taste like soup, somehow. It tastes better. Youngjae _feels_ better. He’s aware it might be laced with magic, but he grits his teeth and does it anyway, telling himself it’s for the plan. It’s for Signixe.

“How are you feeling now?” the faery asks, as if reading his mind and Youngjae nearly chokes. He has to remind himself that Yugyeom can’t read his mind or he would be screwed already. 

“Better,” he manages to stammer. Yugyeom fidgets, like he wants to ask something.

“Um, I understand if it’s uncomfortable for you,” he begins, “but is it okay if I check your head, see if your wound has improved at all?”

Youngjae raises his head from the bowl, eyes darting between Yugyeom’s. The boy looks so earnest and concerned that Youngjae thinks he should give in. “Ah. Um, yeah, okay.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? I don’t want to—”

“I’m sure, Yugyeom-ssi.”

Yugyeom visibly flinches at that. “I—don’t call me that. Please. I think we’re close enough to drop honorifics, right?” He smiles a little when Youngjae nods hastily, standing up and moving behind Youngjae. 

He immediately goes alert. _Reflexes,_ he thinks. 

But Yugyeom isn’t there to attack him. He gently parts Youngjae’s hair and feels around for where he got hit last night. Youngjae winces a little at the pain, but Yugyeom’s touch is indescribably…soft. Careful. His fingers brush against the back of Youngjae’s neck and a ripple of goosebumps run across his skin. 

Yugyeom’s hands are warm. The pain is pulsing through his head now, sending him dizzily spiraling upwards to a high he’s barely ever felt. The soup bowl stutters in his grip. 

“Soup,” comes the reminder from just behind him. Yugyeom’s voice seems to be spoken directly into his ear and he shies away, a sort of uneasiness settling in him. The faery must sense this, because he backs away, letting Youngjae’s hair fall back into place. “It looks fine; it’s healing.”

Youngjae swallows hard, very much confused as to what just happened. 

Yugyeom moves into his line of sight and Youngjae rearranges his features to form a more relaxed expression. He spoons more soup into his mouth. 

“Youngjae.”

He lifts his gaze to lock with Yugyeom’s. He’s looking at him in a way Youngjae has never seen. He doesn’t know what to make of it. 

_Does he know? Does he know who I am? Why is he being so concerned?_

“Yes?” He prompts when Yugyeom remains silent. 

The faery opens his mouth, but closes it again, shaking his head. 

“No,” he says, “it’s nothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if this is something anyone wants to read, but I've been having such a fun time writing it, and it's a story and plot that I'm very proud of, one my mom actually listened to, and she never listens to anything...so, yeah. I hope someone enjoys this.


	3. Doubts

Yugyeom doesn’t let him leave the room until night has fallen. Youngjae protests very, very adamantly, no longer willing to be at the mercy of the faery in his abode. He wants to be somewhere he has   
power, and he wants to leave now. But Yugyeom forces him down, bribes him, threatens him, and he gives up. 

He spends the afternoon taking in his surroundings: the bright yet pale blue of the ceiling that very much resembles the sky, the greens and yellows and browns on the walls, the abundance of plants all around the house and some curious little trinkets that he couldn’t identify at all. There seems to be far too much light in the apartment that usual. Or perhaps that was just his imagination. 

He remembers what Mark asked him the day they met. _“Isn’t the shop pretty?”_

He thinks he’ll use the same word for the apartment.

Mark, who is apparently Yugyeom’s housemate, returns from work at around seven and nods approvingly at what Yugyeom has done, completely ignoring Youngjae’s pleas. 

“Hey, I _personally_ called your boss and explained the situation, okay?” Mark says, shrugging off his backpack onto the sofa where Youngjae is seated. “He’s worried sick and gave you the entire week off if you needed it. Made me promise to update and everything.”

Youngjae is shocked into silence at the amount of concern his _manager_ of all people, has for him, just a runaway. Mark seems to understand this, and his expression softens. He doesn’t comment, however, just turns to Yugyeom and disappears into the kitchen without a word. 

Mark makes him ramen and rice. It’s delicious and he voices that thought.

Yugyeom stays quiet, like he does when Mark is there to take control. Youngjae wonders whether they really are brothers, or if the years of their friendship has glued them together. Yugyeom has told him Mark is a generally introverted person. Youngjae wouldn’t have been able to tell. 

“You’ve lost weight, Youngjae-yah,” Mark tells him. “Are you not eating?” His voice is stern. Youngjae doesn’t know what answer to give. He’s been under more stress in the past two months than he’s ever been in his life. 

_It’s only day forty-one, no, forty-two,_ he tells himself. He has to keep up his façade. 

He chooses not to reply, but lets his gaze fall guiltily to his bowl of noodles. 

Mark clicks his tongue. “Youngjae…”

“You’re staying here until you’re completely healthy,” Yugyeom interjects. “I’m not letting you leave.”

Youngjae sighs, letting his chopsticks (what a useless instrument, took him days to master and he’s still not used to it) clatter back into the bowl. “I don’t want to impose—”

“I think that’s for us to decide,” Yugyeom snaps, anger simmering at his edges. There’s a sound like glass breaking in the kitchen and the three of them jump. Mark’s fingers are firmly around Yugyeom’s wrist. There’s anxiety in his eyes.

“That’s enough, Yugyeom.” He jerks his head towards the adjacent room. “Go see what happened and clean it up, yeah?” The faery huffs, but obeys. 

“What was that?” Youngjae asks, peering around. “Did something break?”

“Must be the glassware we got for free on a sale,” Mark says casually. “It’s horrible quality, just tapping it against the sink is enough to break it.”

Youngjae hums, returning to his ramen, turning over the possibility in his head. Perhaps it wasn’t chance? Perhaps Yugyeom’s anger caused it? 

He presses his lips together, doubt creeping through him. Shakes his head. 

_How powerful is Yugyeom?_

-

_Calm down, Gyeom._ He grips the sides of the countertop, breathing deeply. A glass has broken because of his unrestrained rage, and now he’s ashamed that he let his powers out of his control. He didn’t mean to. 

It’s just that…Youngjae simply doesn’t _get_ it. 

“He’s been abused,” he whispers to himself as he picks up the pieces of glass out of the sink. _I don’t want to pity him because that’s probably not what he wants, but…I want to make it better! I want him to know that we’re not going to hurt him. Even though he’s…but that doesn’t matter, that only makes me want to take care of him more!_

He’s about to throw away the glass when he hears noise. 

“Um, Yugyeom?” 

He jumps, cutting his finger on the edge of a piece and swears colourfully. He disposes of the damned things and straightens up to run his hand under the tap. “Hey. Youngjae.” 

The boy approaches him cautiously with both his and Mark’s bowls and sets them down near the sink. That’s when he catches sight of Yugyeom’s bloody fingers. 

“You’re bleeding!” He exclaims, immediately looking around frantically. “Mark! Yu—” 

“Hey, no, it’s okay.” Yugyeom raises his hand after washing it. There’s barely a sliver of red on his index finger. “It’s fine. Just like a papercut.”

“Oh.” Youngjae relaxes, fumbling with the dishes again. A bit of red tints his cheeks and Yugyeom wonders if he is embarrassed at his overreaction. 

_Gods, you’re cute._

Youngjae looks up, startled. “What?” His face is turning redder.

A beat too late, Yugyeom realizes that he said that aloud. His hand drags up to cover his traitorous mouth. “Nothing. Never mind.” 

“Ah.” He teeters on his heels for a moment before saying, “Mark sent me in to see if I could get you to calm down.”

_Oh, so that was it._ He can’t help but be a little disappointed that Youngjae didn’t come in of his own will. He takes one of the bowls Youngjae set down and begins to wash it. “Thanks. I’m calm now.”

It seems to him that Youngjae takes a hell of an effort to speak. “Do all of your friends keep an eye on people?”

The question comes out of nowhere. “My friends?”

He nods. “You said you asked one of your friends to keep an eye on me.” Yugyeom remembers that, yes. “Don’t they have other things to do? Why bother watching me?”

Yugyeom slumps, setting the soapy bowl down. “Youngjae, you—” He breaks off, frustrated. He’s not good at this. He doesn’t have Mark’s patience. “Why do you think you’re so worthless?”

Youngjae’s mouth parts in surprise and Yugyeom’s eyes flicker to his lips briefly. He doesn’t say anything. He’s probably shocked at the question.

“Youngjae, in case you didn’t know, you’re not worthless. I just—what do I say? This isn’t that great a place and there are a lot of people who actually _like_ hurting people. And…and maybe you’ve never had someone to take care of you before, but—but that’s _not_ your fault!” Yugyeom rinses out the bowl and sets it aside. He’s working methodically, venting his anger out on the innocent ceramic. 

“Are you this nice to everyone?” Youngjae is whispering now. Yugyeom’s not sure what he wants to hear, so he goes with the truth. 

“You needed it more than anyone else.”

Youngjae shakes his head, letting his long locks cover his face (he must not have enough money to get it cut, Yugyeom thinks painfully). “I don’t need anyone going out of their way to help me. I’m fine.”

Yugyeom blows air out forcefully. “Going out of my way? We’re all lost souls here, Youngjae. None of us have a path to follow anyway. You’re not imposing at all.” When he opens his mouth to argue, Yugyeom cuts him off. “Please shut up and go to bed. I’ll wash the rest of these.”

Youngjae hesitates, but obeys.

-

Youngjae barely sleeps that night. His mind is filled with the events of the day, beginning with the assault and Yugyeom’s “friend” intervening. Yugyeom thinks he doesn’t remember. How could he forget? He may have been concussed, but he doesn’t have amnesia. He knows what he saw. He knows that Yugyeom’s little friend ripped out a man’s chest. 

_Does Yugyeom know his friend is a murderer?_

Youngjae rolls over, disturbed. Yugyeom must know. How could he not? That means he’s not as innocent as he tries to make himself seem. If he can cover for murder, it shouldn’t be hard to pretend to be nice to Youngjae. There has to be some ulterior motive. Hell, look what he did to Hyunwoo and Wonho. He’s a murderer himself. 

That thought chills him. He’s sharing an apartment with a cold-blooded killer. But then again, so were they, weren’t they?

And then…there was that dream. 

Youngjae’s already choking up, throat constricting, tears building up. 

Was that really his father? Was that really his memory? Why would it come to him in a dream, after all these years? The image is already blurring in his memory. What happened to his father, to the ship?

_I need to know. I’ve never wanted answers so badly._

He needs answers from Mark and Yugyeom, too. He wants to know what they want from him. What possible use could he serve? True, they haven’t done anything to make him suspect them of iniquity, but he still wants to know.

Wait.

They _haven’t_ done anything to him. 

…Why not? 

True, they don’t know who he is, but they’ve taken an interest in him, for whatever reason. He hopes they’re not just dragging out his death for the sake of a little fun. 

But still…fae are still bloodthirsty in perhaps not so much a gory way, but a disturbing way, nevertheless. They haven’t done anything to make him suspect any evil intentions. They haven’t attempted to know his full name or snatch his soul or anything. Were those only stereotypes? Maybe. 

_Logically_ speaking, magic is a tool. Just a tool. The fact that supernaturals naturally possess magic _shouldn’t_ automatically make them evil—but then he pushes that thought out of his head, terrified. He would be flayed in Signixe if he was caught thinking such traitorous things.

But he fails to keep it away and the awful, blood-freezing question creeps back into his mind.

What if supernaturals _aren’t_ all evil?

The implications of that frighten him. The consequences of the statement…he doesn’t think he can bear it. He knows what he’s been trained to do and by everything he believes in, he’s going to, damn it all. 

“Youngjae,” he whispers to himself firmly. “Do what you have to do and get the fuck out.”

-

The next morning, Mark stays in instead of Yugyeom, much to the younger’s displeasure. Youngjae overhears their disagreement from his side of the wall their rooms share. 

“What would I do there without you?” Yugyeom’s arguing. “I don’t know shit about running it.”

“You don’t even have to do anything there,” Mark retorts. “Jaebeom will manage everything.” 

“Hyung—”

“Listen to me, Gyeom. Get out of the apartment; you need the air.” Mark’s tone sounds final. “Besides, what about—” And then his voice drops too low for Youngjae to hear. 

_What about what?_ Curiosity claws at him. 

Patience. He’ll find out. 

A small part of him wants Yugyeom to stay and he convinces himself that it’s so he can observe his target. An even smaller part of him knows that’s not why. But it seems like Mark got his way, because Yugyeom is nowhere to be seen when he finally steps out of his room for breakfast. 

“There you are,” Mark says lightly, glancing up from his phone when he hears footsteps. “I was about to wake you. Hungry?”

Yes. He really is. “Starving,” he agrees. Mark smiles at him and goes into the kitchen. Youngjae seats himself at the table. 

_I can’t believe I actually spent an entire day living with supernaturals,_ he thinks, astounded. _I never thought I would do something like that. But I suppose I’ll have to change my ways if I want the mission to succeed._

And then he feels ashamed of himself again. 

_Why are you ashamed? You’re thinking too deep into this. This bastard killed Wonho and Hyunwoo and he’s walking free. You’re here to set the bar straight. He doesn’t deserve to live after what he’s done._

Yeah. Youngjae accepts that explanation. 

_There you go again,_ says a nasty little voice in his head. _You’re only thinking of yourself. Can’t you imagine what Wonho and Hyunwoo did to him, that he had to kill them to save himself? It was self-defense. Those two had no reason to attack him. He was probably just minding his own business._

_But—_

You didn’t hear of any unexplained murders, did you? Not in the forty-three days you’ve been here. He clearly doesn’t go around making a mess for fun. Heck, he barely leaves his apartment unless it’s work. If he’s a murderer, it’s because you made him one.

“Did you call me?”

Mark’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. “What?”

“I thought you—never mind.” He sets down some toast and eggs. “Eat up. How’s your head?”

Youngjae slowly picks up the fork. “Um, it doesn’t hurt as much as yesterday. Yugyeom said it was better. I don’t know.”

“Mind if I look?” 

Youngjae shrugs, spearing a piece of egg. Mark takes that as a yes.

He immediately notices that Mark’s hands are nowhere near as gentle as Yugyeom’s. He winces as Mark pokes around his wound. The elder does nothing to comfort him aside from mutters of ‘yeah, sorry’ and ‘it doesn’t hurt that bad’. Youngjae has forgotten his food; he’s pouting at Mark once he stops abusing him. 

“ _Abusing_ you?” He swiftly pinches the underside of Youngjae’s arm (“ow!”). “I’ve seen a lot of wounds, okay? You’re fine.” Youngjae is still rubbing his arm, but it’s already achieved the effect Mark was going for: he’s been distracted from the pain in his head. 

There’s an unease settling in his gut at Mark’s comment. He must mean… _Yugyeom’s_ wounds. From the attacks. 

At the same time, he feels funny at the simple way Mark treats him, almost like Youngjae is his little brother. Almost like he’s Yugyeom. 

He doesn’t know what to do about that feeling. He’s doesn’t dislike it, much to his surprise.

“Eat your breakfast,” Mark reminds him. “I’ll be out front.”

-

When Youngjae wanders out into the living room, he finds Mark sunk into the sofa with some sort of remote in his hand. He’s pressing buttons with a vigor, eyes glued to the television screen. Youngjae’s gaze pans to it and he’s utterly confused. 

“Hey,” Mark says, setting the thing down and turning to him. “Come and have a seat.” 

Youngjae obeys. 

Mark scans him up and down and then, satisfied, returns to what he’s doing. Youngjae has no clue what’s going on, apart from some fighting. Whenever Mark presses a button, shots are fired, someone gets hit, people die. He doesn’t realize Mark is watching him until the screen stills. 

“You want to play?” he asks.

Youngjae doesn’t know what to say. Play? “What?”

The corner of Mark’s mouth twitches. “You’ve never played a video game?” Youngjae shakes his head, already storing the new terms in mind. _Video games._ Mark does something with the screen and then hands the…remote?...to him. 

Youngjae looks at it helplessly. Mark chuckles and aligns Youngjae’s fingers over the several buttons. 

For the next hour, Mark acquaints him with what a video game is, what the storyline of the current one he’s playing, and what to do with the buttons. Youngjae is dragged into an entire world that he’s never seen nor heard of, and it fascinates him. Mark explains the story of a man (the man they play as, which was quite the concept to Youngjae) who assassinates the queen in this alternate reality, and guides him through the consequences of it. 

“You’re a natural,” Mark comments, delighted, as Youngjae breezes his way along in no time. 

Half of him is ecstatic, of course, because this is the easiest thing ever—he does this for a living, playing it is simple compared to what he’s really been through. True, it’s not the same; he only needs his fingers here. His muscles twitch when he plays, trying to react to the events happening on screen. The other half of him is, well, guilty. He finds that he misses training at Signixe. And Jun. He really fucking misses Jun. He tries not to think about him.

Mark seems content to sit back and watch him play. He doesn’t even need to suggest tactics anymore, Youngjae has it covered. He pulls off maneuvers that don’t even cross Mark’s mind. He’s impressed. 

There’s a particular scene where the player’s character talks to a man for information, and the guy is rude, no cooperative at all—he’s hinting at blackmail. Mark would have let the guy talk, would have tried to convince him to hear him out, but Youngjae’s jaw tightens. 

The main character raises his blade and slashes the man’s neck. 

“Wait, I don’t think you’re supposed to kill him,” Mark says, confused. There’s a ruckus on screen, but Youngjae deftly evades the people. “He has information—!”

“I don’t care,” Youngjae replies coolly, navigating the busy streets in search of a hideout. “I don’t like bullies.” His teeth are still clenched and Mark narrows his eyes. 

_Kyoto,_ is all that Mark can think. 

“Youngjae-yah,” he murmurs, “pause the game.”

It’s not a suggestion. Youngjae’s shoulders relax and he puts the controller down. Mark yanks him back into the cushions and he melts further. 

“If I ask you whether you’re okay, you’ll tell me yes.” Mark crosses his arms. “So, what was that about?” Youngjae feigns ignorance. Mark purses his lips. “The ‘I don’t like bullies’? What was that about?” 

The younger boy doesn’t speak. 

“Talk to me, Youngjae,” he pleads. “Was it something that happened in…Kyoto?”

Youngjae flinches and Mark’s heart sinks. “Yeah. There are bullies everywhere. It’s not a big deal. Can we move on?” He reaches for the controller, but Mark turns off the television. 

“It _does_ matter.” Youngjae rolls his eyes, but doesn’t protest. “Talking will help, trust me. It doesn’t have to be about bullies. Just talk to me. I think it’s enough gaming for now.” He’s right; it’s past noon and neither of them noticed.

Youngjae glances at him uncertainly. “Talk about what?”

“Anything.” Mark settles back so he’s facing him. “What’s going on with you nowadays? Any relationships? Crushes?”

Youngjae barks out a laugh. “Me? A relationship? I can hardly take care of myself.”

It’s a relief, Mark thinks, to see him smile. “Not even a crush on that girl you work with? The one with the purple hair?”

“ _Dahyun?_ ” He sounds incredulous. “No way! I don’t even—” He breaks off, eyes darting to Mark, fearful. 

Mark, perceptive as ever, is taken aback by how scared he looked in that moment. “You don’t what?” Youngjae’s entire body conveys signs of nervousness. He’s fiddling with his hands and swallowing. 

“I—um,” he clears his throat, “I’m…I don’t like…girls.” He’s very determinedly avoiding Mark’s eyes.

He thinks he knows why Youngjae might have been bullied now. But he doesn’t want Youngjae to think that’s a reason to get bullied at all. They certainly don’t have a problem with homosexuality. Both he and Yugyeom are openly pansexual, anyway. 

“You’re gay.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement. It’s acceptance. But Youngjae doesn’t look at him. “Youngjae-yah, you don’t have to be afraid of what I’ll say. I like men, too.”

When he lifts his head, it’s awe in his face. “You—really?”

Mark grins at his amazement. “Yeah. I’m pansexual. So is Gyeom. There’s nothing to be ashamed about. We’re not much different from you.” And then he realizes what he’s said. 

_Oh, Youngjae, if only you knew._

“I—wow.” He’s speechless. “I wouldn’t have thought...” 

“Wait, you’re saying you’ve seen the décor at the shop _and_ my home, and you still thought we were straight? I’m disappointed.” He tries to sound stern, but fails. 

Youngjae laughs a little. He’s also trembling slightly. Mark reaches out and holds his hand. 

“Steady, now.” Youngjae nods, and then breaks out into giddy bursts of relief. 

“I’m sorry, I just—” He shakes his head, breathless. “I’ve never—”

“You don’t need to explain, it’s okay.” Mark tugs him closer. “I’ll teach you to play Overwatch tomorrow, yeah? And then we can play together.”

Youngjae doesn’t argue.

-

When Yugyeom returns in the afternoon, Youngjae is completely over his little meltdown and properly ashamed about it. Mark subtly (or maybe not quite) asked him if he liked either of them, and he couldn’t bring himself to answer. He has an inkling that Mark had him all figured out. He knows his face is the shade of embarrassment. 

Yugyeom doesn’t seem to notice at all. He bounces into the apartment with the enthusiasm of a preschooler who was awarded a gold star for learning his alphabets. He has news, clearly.

“Hyung, guess what?” He says, plopping down on the sofa next to Mark. “You know that drama we’ve been meaning to see? _He Is Psychometric_?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “So, Jaebeom hyung was watching that today—”

“Is he watching dramas when he’s supposed to be working?” Mark asks, surprised but stern.

Yugyeom hastily amends his statement. “No, he was taking his break, but I saw it and—”

Mark cuts him off again. “Hold up, are _you_ watching dramas while you’re supposed to be working?”

He turns pink, eyes darting to Youngjae and back, suddenly conscious. “I—that’s not the point, hyung, let me finish! You know the lead actor in that? Park Jinyoung?” 

“What about him?”

“ _Apparently_ , he went to school with Jaebeom hyung. He said they were best friends.”

Mark raises an eyebrow, looking at Youngjae to ask for his opinion. “That’s interesting. Do they still keep in touch? It would be cool to know a celebrity, wouldn’t it?” He nudges Youngjae, who grins. 

“I don’t think they do, though. I guess they fell out of touch.” Yugyeom grimaces. “Sad, isn’t it? When friends break up.”

For the second time that day, Youngjae remembers Jun and his stomach twists. It must show on his face, because Mark prompts, “What about you, Youngjae-yah? You’ve never talked about your friends.”

He doesn’t know what to tell them. He sticks to the bare minimum. “I only had one friend. We were like brothers.” He draws his knees up onto the sofa. “The other kids didn’t like me much.”

Mark’s hand is reassuring on his shoulder. “What’s his name?”

“Jun.”

“Is he still in Kyoto?”

“I…don’t know. We got separated when the regime came, I don’t even know if he’s alive.” Which is partly true. He has no clue what’s happening on Signixe, what with their unstable leaders who could sometimes lash out when they felt like it. Nothing _should_ be wrong, given that Jun’s a pretty well-loved figure back home, but he still worries. 

He can almost feel their pity radiating from the other side of the sofa. “I’m sorry, Youngjae. Maybe one day, you can go back and find out.” He waves it away.

“It’s alright. I don’t think I ever want to go back there.”

And then his own words slap him in the face. 

_Youngjae…what is that supposed to mean? Do you not want to go back to Signixe? Isn’t that…home?_

He isn’t given the chance to dwell on it, because Mark announces loudly that he’s going to start making dinner, and then leaves him with Yugyeom. Awkwardness falls heavily on them. 

“Um…” He turns his head when he hears Yugyeom’s voice. “Does your head hurt anymore?”

Instinctively, Youngjae touches his healing wound. “Not as much. Mark checked it in the morning.” Yugyeom looks satisfied at that. Perhaps he’s right, perhaps Mark _is_ the one who treats Yugyeom’s injuries. 

He’s also suddenly very much aware of Yugyeom’s eyes on him. 

“So…what did you two do today?”

Glad for the distraction, Youngjae points to the television, a smile breaking out over his features involuntarily. “He showed me how to play video games! It’s really fun!” 

Yugyeom makes a funny noise, like he’s both exasperated and relieved. “Great. Now I suppose the two of you are always going to be in front of the damn screen, shooting away, huh?” He shakes his head but he can’t hide his smirk. “Well, at least I won’t have to play with him anymore.” He nods at the consoles carelessly on the floor. “You really like playing? With him?”

Youngjae doesn’t think twice before saying yes. Sure, they were supernaturals, but the game had been so interesting, he finds he doesn’t really care. “Mark said I’m good at it.”

“Of _course_ he did.” It’s mumbled low enough that it probably isn’t meant for him to hear, but he does. He looks over at the other boy. “I should probably go help with dinner.”

Yugyeom’s ears are red. 

Youngjae doesn’t know what this means. He watches, puzzled, as the faery gets to his feet and disappears into the kitchen. 

_Am I missing something?_

-

That night, he dreams that he’s in his hostel room. He doesn’t know how it happens, or when the guy even came in, but he’s being shoved up against the wall and Seungcheol’s knuckles meet his cheekbone. His head slams back and hits the concrete. 

“You little rat!” He spits and Youngjae has to turn away in disgust even though he can’t escape the flying bits of saliva. He wants to lift his arms and punch the guy back, but he’s frozen. He can’t move. Seungcheol’s next blow pushes his face to the side and much to his surprise, Jun is there, leaning against the same wall, arms crossed, watching the scene with pain in his eyes. But he’s not doing anything to stop Seungcheol. 

“Jun!” He spits out. “Help me!”

But to his horror, Jun shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Youngjae, but you deserve this much. You’ve been taking your mission too far.”

And then Seungcheol’s fist connects with his face again, and the dream changes, almost like he’s been dragged out of it and into another one.

He’s back in Yugyeom’s apartment and he’s bewildered with the force by which he entered it, like he was summoned there. But that’s crazy. That’s not possible.

Yugyeom is standing in the kitchen, at the sink, and he’s gripping the sides of the countertop as if he’s anxious about something. Youngjae doesn’t move from where he stands in the doorway. He still hasn’t oriented himself. He’s also not sure Yugyeom is aware of him. 

But Yugyeom mutters, “Youngjae-yah,” and he goes still. “ _Youngjae-yah_ ,” he repeats, more forcefully. And now Youngjae can see the bottle in the sink. 

“Are you drunk?” He hears himself ask. Yugyeom shakes his head firmly, like a child would. 

“’S not my birthday yet,” he slurs. “Not midnight yet. My—my birthday is tomorrow.”

Youngjae has no idea what Yugyeom’s birthday has to do with this situation. From what Mark has told him, Yugyeom’s birthday is only next month. November seventeenth. He only remembers the date because it’s exactly two months after his own. 

Youngjae isn’t used to being patient. “It’s not your birthday, so you’re not drunk?” Yugyeom nods.

“Gotta tell you something.” He’s hunched over the sink, almost as if he’s going to vomit into it. “Can’t sleep without—without telling you.”

Youngjae’s heartbeat picks up even though he’s asleep. He knows he’s only dreaming, funnily enough. “What…what is it?”

Yugyeom opens his mouth to answer, but then laughs himself silly, snorting in between giggles. “Stupid,” he says aloud. “I’m stupid for liking you, right?”

And Youngjae’s heart stops. “What?” When he doesn’t reply, he repeats it: “Yugyeom, what did you mean just now?”

And then Yugyeom is sniffling into the back of his hand and Youngjae doesn’t know what to do. “See? You don’t like me back.”

Youngjae attempts to lift his spirits. “You don’t know that.” Yugyeom lifts his head and shows Youngjae his red eyes and runny nose. 

“That’s…” His eyes narrow in confusion. “That’s not what you usually say.” His voice is low, tone deeper and more dangerous. 

Youngjae is suddenly aware that he’s treading in open territories. 

“What do you mean, what I usually say?” 

Yugyeom inhales sharply, all signs of intoxication gone. “Fuck.” He looks around frantically, searching for something, anything. His cheeks are turning red and Youngjae has no clue what’s going on. He tries to say something, to ask, but Yugyeom is in his face, grabbing onto his shoulders. 

“You’re in my dream,” he growls. “Get out.” And he shakes him, hard. 

Youngjae is shook awake by his dream, punched back into the conscious realm. He sits up, drawing in breath, so deeply confused by what just happened. He scoots back, still in a sitting position, until his back hits the headboard. He draws his knees up to his chest. 

He doesn’t sleep a wink for the rest of the night.

-

Mark finds him like that when daylight breaks through the window, curled into a ball and rocking slightly back and forth. He hesitates in the doorway, analyzing the scene, but steps inside. Youngjae doesn’t look up at him though he knows he’s being watched. He can’t bring himself to care. 

“Youngjae?”

He lifts his weary eyes to meet Mark’s, and concern floods the elder’s features. He knows he must look a fucking mess, black smudging the sensitive skin under his eyes. He can’t get the dream out of his head, can’t get the horror he feels at the realization that he might have really found his way into Yugyeom’s dream, and that it should be possible for Yugyeom to worm his way into his, too. 

Things are getting dangerous. He doesn’t know if it’s the magic in the air or simply interacting with them. He doesn’t even know if Yugyeom has the power to read minds. 

“Youngjae-yah, what’s wrong?” Mark cautiously perches himself at the edge of the bed. 

Youngjae doesn’t move. He wonders, briefly, if _Mark_ could read minds, wonders if he _would_ if he doesn’t answer. Try as he might, he can’t detect a magical signature from Mark. Youngjae has forced himself to accept that either Mark is no supernatural, or his aura is too weak to be detected…and therefore, not a threat. 

…But it could be the other way, couldn’t it? 

Mark could be so powerful that he’s masking it?

He pushes those thoughts out of his head as Mark inches closer, closer until he’s sitting flush against Youngjae’s side. He stares at the junction between their two bodies, where Mark’s lean thigh presses against his muscled one. 

“Youngjae.” 

A breath escapes him, and it almost sounds like a sob. 

“It’s alright.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut and lets his head hang till his chin hits his chest. He can feel Mark’s arm winding around his shoulders, a hand at the back of his head pressing him into the crook of his neck.   
Youngjae has never been held like that since he was five. Not since Jun’s mother passed. 

A tear slips out of the corner of his eye at the thought. 

He doesn’t remember the days when Jun’s father brought him in, if his dream was to be taken true. But he does remember that the only person in that family who treated him with comfort was her. Jun hated him at first, for taking his mother away, but once society did that for him anyway by giving him a place in the dorms, he began to mellow. They were best friends, they were brothers. 

But brothers don’t hold each other like that. 

_”That’s gay,” one of the boys in the dorm said. “What are you, a faggot?”_

But Jun still had his father. Youngjae had no one. 

He doesn’t realize he’s trembling until Mark runs his hand over his back to sooth him. 

“Shh,” he whispers. “It’s going to be alright. You’re safe.”

And then Youngjae is crying silent tears into Mark’s t-shirt, his own hands clawing at his legs. He doesn’t hear Mark’s murmured words of comfort over the blood pounding in his ears. It’s been far too long since Youngjae _cried_ …hell, he shouldn’t be crying now! But somehow, the warmth Mark exuded makes him feel, for the first time since he took up this mission, _sorry_ for what he’s doing. 

Because Mark said that he was safe. 

Youngjae knows that’s not true. He’s a Hunter. Of Signixe, no less. _Nowhere_ is safe. 

But for now, for these ten minutes, he lets himself believe it. And he cries. He cries for his dead father and the mother he’d never known. He cries for Jun, left alone in the training halls and the water and hopes that his dreams don’t mean anything and that he doesn’t drown. He cries for all the friends he’s made and lost in the past, for Jun’s mother. 

He cries for Mark and Yugyeom, because of what he’s done to them. What he’s _doing_ to them, because deep down, he knows that they don’t deserve what’s inevitably going to happen.

He cries for strength, to make a decision he knows he won’t live to see the outcome of.

Mark lets him, doesn’t ask him why, just stays there as a silent support until Youngjae can catch his breath. He doesn’t speak even as Yugyeom stops by the room, looking very much worried and a little flustered (he makes a mental note to ask what that is about). 

Once Youngjae gathers his dignity and pulls away, Mark only smiles gently and ruffles his hair, like he does with Yugyeom. He’s not supposed to feel it, but there’s a thrill jolting through him that Mark sees him, treats him as he would the faery. He feels welcomed. Like he… _belongs_.

The trained instinct in him rears its ugly head. 

_That means he trusts you, doesn’t it? That means you’re a step closer to your goal!_

Mark pats his arm fondly before getting up and Youngjae wants to vomit. He doesn’t like this feeling…this disgust that’s washing through him. He’s not used to feeling disgust about _himself_. Others, yes, but…

“Breakfast’s ready whenever you are,” Mark tells him and he only nods numbly. The elder pauses in the doorway and he sees Yugyeom standing there, only tearing his eyes away from Youngjae when Mark speaks. He can’t hear what Mark is saying, but Yugyeom turns red and—is Youngjae imagining it, or did Yugyeom just look his way?—and rushes off. 

The dream pops back into his head. 

Surely that couldn’t have been… _real_? He couldn’t have _really_ gone inside Yugyeom’s dream…could he?

Mark gives him one last searching look and smiles, before disappearing down the hall.

The dagger feels a little bit heavier in his chest.

-

Breakfast is, as expected, quiet. Yugyeom doesn’t say a word to anyone the entire time, choosing to focus solely on his toast, taking deliberate care when buttering it. He’s still red in the face. Youngjae glances curiously at him in between bites and notices that Mark has a smirk on his face. Clearly, he knows what’s up with Yugyeom.

Youngjae dreads the truth, but he thinks he knows too.

He hopes it’s not the case. He doesn’t need the added pressure of the chance that someone could monitor his dreams. He’s constantly at risk of being exposed, but he doesn’t want to do that to _himself_. For fuck’s sake. 

There’s an odd sort of weight pressing down on him, making it harder for his lungs to give him air. He hates it. He wants it to go away. Right now. There’s nothing more that he wants than to leave the apartment, go back to solitude, collect himself and concentrate on his mission. But he finds his resolve cracking when Mark stands and tells them he’s going to the shop, that he’ll be back soon, he’s just interviewing a new guy, and to behave while he’s gone, as if they are his children. 

And then, like that, he’s left alone with Yugyeom. Silence falls over the table. They haven’t finished their food, but they’re not eating, either. Youngjae picks at his own toast and looks up when Yugyeom pushes his plate away. 

The faery isn’t looking at him, but he’s biting his lip nervously, as if he wants to say something. Youngjae can guess what it might be, but he doesn’t prompt the other boy.

“Um,” Yugyeom begins, “did you—did you sleep well?” And then he winces, probably remembering how Mark comforted him in the morning, how he cried. “I—sorry, I mean, are you okay? Did something happen?”

_He’s fishing,_ Youngjae realizes. _Alright, I’ll tell him, then. I’d like to know how he covers this up._

“I kind of…had a weird dream,” he replies. “It—it was…you were in it.”

Yugyeom’s eyebrows rise. “Me?” And then, much to Youngjae’s surprise, the corner of his mouth lifts. _The audacity,_ he thinks. _Bastard._ Yugyeom tears a piece of toast and fits it into his mouth. “And then?” he asks, mumbling. “What happened?”

Youngjae’s eyes briefly fall to the motion of Yugyeom’s throat as he swallows. “I don’t…really know for sure, but you were in the kitchen—” he gestures around, “—and…I think you were drunk, because there was a bottle in the sink, and you were standing there all—” He sways in his seat, trying to convey the message that dream Yugyeom was tipsy. 

Yugyeom smiles outright at that. “Yeah?”

Youngjae nods. “And then you said my name, and I asked if you were drunk, but then you started saying some nonsense about how it isn’t your birthday yet, your birthday’s only tomorrow, it’s not midnight yet, or something.” He doesn’t miss how Yugyeom falters very slightly in his chewing. Or is he imagining that? “And then…” 

Here, Youngjae hesitates himself, less and less sure that he’d been in Yugyeom’s dream and more that he’s been making things up. He doesn’t want to sound silly. Or worse, desperate. That would be embarrassing. It already is. 

“Then what?” Yugyeom prompts. 

Youngjae purses his lips. “Um. You said you wanted to tell me something. So…I asked what it was. And then you started laughing and—and then you said it’s stupid that…you _like_ me.” 

Yugyeom flushes. “What? I—I said that?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a hushed moment, before the faery says, “Weird. I dreamt about you, too.”

Two thoughts cross in Youngjae’s mind. One is _of course he had a weird dream, he had the same dream, I interrupted it, right?_. The other is, _wait, what?_

Yugyeom doesn’t wait for Youngjae to persuade him to talk about it. “There’s a garden, not too far from here. I mean, it’s like a park, but there’s no—it’s not a kids’ park, is what I mean.” He waves his hand. “Yeah, anyway. I like to go there sometimes, it’s a really beautiful place. So—I was there, I don’t remember what I was doing, but that’s not important—the thing is, what happened…even I don’t know. All at once, I was _drowning_! Out of nowhere!”

If Youngjae had any sort of smug feeling that he’d been ready to corner Yugyeom and admit he’s fae, it vanishes. His head throbs, whether the remnant of the attack, he doesn’t know. Horror trickles through him. 

“I was _terrified!_ I mean, I can swim, but that wasn’t the situation, it was like, I _couldn’t_ do anything about it, as if someone was pulling me down, you know?”

Yugyeom goes on enthusiastically and Youngjae can’t bring himself to interject. 

“But then someone grabs me and pulls me back up to the surface!” Yugyeom has a twinkle in his eye. “Guess who it was!”

_Seriously? You’re going to tell me a dream you had where I was in it and then ask me who I think was in it?_ Youngjae knows perfectly well who saved him, but for the sake of playing along, he shrugs. “I don’t know, Mark?”

Yugyeom frowns, as if he hasn’t thought of that. “Well. I mean, yeah, Mark _would_ if I _was_ drowning—not that I need him to save me, I can swim—but no, it wasn’t Mark, it was you!” He grins at Youngjae, expecting a reaction. 

“Really?” He asks, just to indulge the faery. 

“Yeah,” Yugyeom says, “but then you were yelling at me for some reason, I don’t know why—probably telling me off, and then I woke up.”

Youngjae swears that Yugyeom looked so much younger than he actually is in the last two minutes. He’s staring, almost awestruck at the blush dusting his cheeks, the youthful glow in his eyes. 

_So, this is what happens when someone talks about things that interest them, huh?_

And then Youngjae felt heat creep up his neck, because Yugyeom had been talking about _him_.

“Yeah, I usually have dreams about people I interact with,” Yugyeom comments.

“You must be really tired of Mark, then.”

There’s a brief silence, before the two of them are laughing. 

Youngjae is surprised at himself. He’s actually _laughing_. He doubts whether he’s laughed in the past forty-three days at all. 

What’s more, he’s laughing with a… _supernatural_.

The smile slides off his face. 

What is he doing?

Yugyeom’s grin fades as well. “Is…something wrong?”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” he says hastily, forcing a smile back on, “Just…my head hurts.” He winces a little for effect. It’s not a total lie.

“Oh shit.” Yugyeom stands up at once, rushing over to his side. “Is it okay if I…?” Youngjae shrugs, as if it doesn’t matter, but he can’t deny the shiver that runs through him when Yugyeom’s fingers catch on the knots in his hair, tugging lightly. This doesn’t happen when it’s Mark checking on him.

_What the fuck,_ he thinks. 

“It’s gotten a lot better,” Yugyeom remarks. “It’s healed.”

“That’s a relief, I can get out of your hair now. Or, rather, out of mine.” The words escape him before he can stop his big mouth. He feels the hands prodding at his scalp falter. 

“A relief?” 

Youngjae closes his eyes as something akin to guilt twists in his gut at the disappointment in Yugyeom’s voice. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“You really want to just get the fuck out of here, huh?” Yugyeom pulls away and takes his plate into the kitchen without looking at him. 

_Shit, you just had to go and ruin everything, didn’t you?_ He slaps himself and rises, grabbing his own plate, too. 

Yugyeom’s standing at the sink, yanking on gloves so he can wash the dishes. It’s obvious that he’s upset. 

“Yugyeom—” Youngjae begins. Plates clatter loudly and he flinches. “I didn’t mean that I wanted to leave so badly, I just…” 

“Just what?” He can’t believe this, Yugyeom is actually _pouting_ , lower lip jutting out ever so slightly. It would have been adorable, if Youngjae wasn’t panicking about losing his progress. He finds himself too fascinated by the sight to respond. “Youngjae?”

He snaps out of it. “What?”

Yugyeom narrows his eyes, still scrubbing determinedly at the plate he’s holding. “Just what?”

Youngjae refocuses on the conversation and realizes he doesn’t actually have an excuse that he can use without outing himself. “I—it’s complicated. I have to go back, I’m not allowed to stay away so long without vacating my room and I need to go to work—”

“Mark hyung called your boss,” Yugyeom reminds him. “You have a week off.”

“I—that’s not the point, Yugyeom!” he bursts out. It startles both of them and the faery pauses in his task, still upset.

“Then explain.”

Youngjae doesn’t understand why it’s so difficult for them to let him leave. He’s his own person, he has a life, he feels bad intruding, he’s not fully comfortable among them, either. He gets that they want to take care of him, want to look after him, he’s grateful that Yugyeom’s friend saved him and brought him there, but he’s better now, he can’t depend on them forever. As much as they protest, he’s not used to being coddled. He doesn’t _want_ to be. 

He says this. 

It’s near suicide, when it comes to his mission, but he says it anyway.

He ends up with tears rolling down his cheeks and hates himself for showing weakness. He attributes it to his morning breakdown. 

Yugyeom deflates, all fight leaving him in one long exhale. 

“Alright,” he murmurs, not meeting Youngjae’s eyes. “Alright. If that’s…what you want, then…you better leave right now, before Mark hyung comes back.” He returns to his chore, jaw tight as he rinses the soaped dishes. 

“Alright,” Youngjae whispers. He turns on his heel and walks out of the kitchen. 

He should be relieved. 

He doesn’t know why he isn’t.

-

Yugyeom feels awful for lying. He does it often enough that it _shouldn’t_ have an effect on him, but this time, it stings. 

It stings because it’s Youngjae. 

He didn’t have that dream the night before. That dream was a couple days ago, the night Youngjae was brought in, bleeding. It wasn’t a complete lie, was it?

No, he knows exactly what he dreamt last night. Youngjae narrated it to him. He couldn’t control his dream self, and he regrets not learning how to. He should have just played along instead of opening his damn mouth to say _you’re in my dream, get out_. How stupid of him!

But thankfully, Youngjae didn’t seem suspicious, perhaps just shaken. 

He feels awful for lying, but he feels so much worse now. 

Youngjae walks out of the kitchen and Yugyeom falls, elbows on the counter and knees weak. He doesn’t understand why he’s reacting like this. 

Well. Maybe he has a couple ideas. 

He’s had the worst year possible. The runaway (who seems to go by the name Jungkook) came across him early in the year after so many uncontrolled attacks on innocent people and Yugyeom had been the only one who recognized him for his true nature and attempted to tame him, risking his life in the process. Yes, Jungkook sometimes broke free and went on a rage, but he was getting better and better. 

And then, for some reason, Yugyeom’s being _tracked_? 

Yugyeom had no other explanation other than somebody caught the runaway’s scent and traced it to Yugyeom. Someone was clearly trying to eradicate the threat posed by Jungkook. That person must have backed off or lost the scent at some point, because he hadn’t been tormented by them in a long time.

Back in April, Yugyeom couldn’t fathom the idea of there being actual _hunters_ tracking him. Wasn’t that something that ended in like, the nineteenth century? Surely supernatural hunters didn’t exist anymore? 

But then, June arrived, and with it, two burly men who had no qualms whatsoever about unleashing an attack in a public area when he least suspected it. Three times. Three times they attacked and on the third one, Jungkook interfered. Both Yugyeom and the hunters just barely escaped from his rage with their lives. He’s lucky Jungkook only responds to him.

What Yugyeom _did_ notice were their uniforms, their weapons and their attack style. These were trained people. With developed weapons that inflicted wounds even his glamours couldn’t cover up entirely. These people came from a place that knew how faeries behaved. 

These people were, no doubt, hunters. _Supernatural_ hunters. 

He’s still afraid to go outside. For all he knows, they’re just biding their time. 

It’s in this situation that Youngjae turns up. Obviously, the boy can’t sense it, and Yugyeom is surprised that no one has tried attacking them recently. He doesn’t want it to happen, though. Jungkook has been quite stable recently; he doesn’t want to break the streak.

Maybe he’s paranoid, but Yugyeom can hold his own in front of the enemy. Youngjae can’t. 

He wants nothing more than to wrap him in a blanket and stow him carefully away in his bedroom, so he wouldn’t have to constantly worry about him. He wouldn’t have to send Jungkook behind Youngjae to watch out for him. That was a feat to achieve, convincing him to do it. Yugyeom only managed it, in the end, by telling Jungkook that Youngjae was someone he cared about very deeply and hurting Youngjae was the same as hurting Yugyeom. 

He’s often found himself tempted to break the promise he made to Mark, and just _tell_ Youngjae that he’s a faery, but Mark says the less the boy knows, the better. 

He can’t argue with that logic, can he?

He doesn’t realize how long he’s been staring into space until he hears someone clearing their throat. He jumps, lifting his head to meet Mark’s puzzled eyes. His heart drops into his stomach. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, taking a cautious step inside, placing a bag on the counter. “Where’s Youngjae?” 

Yugyeom doesn’t answer, just continues scrubbing from where he left off. 

Mark sounds more confused than ever. “What are you doing; you hate doing the dishes?” He walks right up to him and grips his chin, to angle it towards him. Yugyeom doesn’t have any fight in him; he goes easily. Mark takes a good look at his red eyes. “Yugy…” he breathes, “What happened? Where is he? Did he…leave?”

Yugyeom can only nod numbly.

Mark pulls him closer, rubbing the nape of his neck. “He left?” Yugyeom sniffles. “I’m so sorry, Yugy; I know how much he means to you, but it’s okay. He can’t stay here forever, right?” When he doesn’t answer, Mark presses on: “Are you okay?” The concern in Mark’s voice has him emotional. He’s not even scolding him for letting Youngjae leave.

“Isn’t it dangerous for him? He’s already been mugged; I hate that I can’t _do_ anything about it—ow!” Mark pinches him to stop his rambling. He pushes the elder away, pouting. “What was that for?”

“Jungkook’s looking after him, isn’t he?” 

Yugyeom nods.

“And you trust Jungkook?”

“Yes.”

“Then what are you worried about?” Mark nudges him aside and takes up the duty of washing dishes. “What _I’m_ worried about is whether he’s eating and his mental health. But keeping him here isn’t the solution to that. All we can do is encourage him to visit and talk. Hey,” Mark calls, waving his hand in front of Yugyeom’s crestfallen face, “he’ll stop by the shop as usual, right? We can see him then. It’s okay, Gyeom.” 

Yugyeom hops up onto the counter next to him. He doesn’t say anything; he can tell this is one of Mark’s advice rants. He’s better off not interrupting. 

“Feelings can get complicated, Yugyeom, I know. But we live a different life to everyone else.” Mark glances at him in pity. “We have the responsibility of keeping other people safe by distancing ourselves.” He sets the last plate aside to dry and wipes his hands off. “There’s nothing to say he can’t feel the same about you, Gyeom.” He places his hands on Yugyeom’s knees and holds his gaze.

Yugyeom looks away. “I’m not in love with him or anything,” he protests, fiddling with the bag Mark had brought in. 

“I never said you were. But you care for him very deeply and that’s understandable, to have someone your own age to talk to and spend time with.” Mark squeezes his kneecaps. “We have to respect his choices, right?” 

He sighs. “I suppose—is this candy?” He tugs open the bag fully. “Why?”

“It’s Halloween, idiot. Forgot that, too?” Mark watches as Yugyeom curiously unpacks it, eyeing the various types of sweets hungrily. “The little brats are going to be ringing the bell all night. We need ammunition to ward them off.”

Yugyeom cracks a smile. “If I don’t eat them first.”

The elder gasps and snatches the packets away. “Don’t you dare. I know you’re upset about Youngjae, but you can’t binge on candy I bought for the kids.”

Yugyeom sobers at the mention. “Are you sure we can’t…you know, tell him the truth?”

Mark’s eyes grow stony. “Yugyeom, he’s better off not knowing it.”

“But he can—”

“And it would be endangering a lot of us, you know that. It’s not just us we have to live for.” Under Mark’s stern gaze, Yugyeom falls silent. Mark ruffles his hair. “Hey, maybe someday we can tell him. About us, at least. Give me some time to think about it.” He notices how Yugyeom still looks sad and it breaks his heart. “He’ll come around to the shop soon enough, don’t worry.”

Yugyeom wants to believe it, but he can’t help the sinking feeling in his chest. 

-

Yugyeom doesn’t leave his bedroom the next day, much to Mark’s disapproval (but he hides it; he knows Yugyeom needs a little more time to digest disappointment than he does). He brings home ice cream, and the two stay up binge-watching _He Is Psychometric_ on Netflix. Yugyeom is so done listening to Mark gush about the lead actor, but he hears him out anyway. 

Perhaps he should have been more worried about letting Mark eat too much ice cream, because the next morning, Mark comes down with a cold and a massive headache. He tells Yugyeom not to bother staying, tosses him his keys and sends him off to work. 

Youngjae hadn’t stopped by the day before, according to Mark, so Yugyeom hopes he does today. He even waits after the shop is closed. 

Youngjae doesn’t show up. Predictable. Expected, even. 

The same thing happens for the rest of the week, even after Mark is up and about. _He’s_ not worried. 

“He’s fine, he’s probably just getting his shit together,” Mark says cheerfully. “If something was wrong, Jungkook would have told you, right?”

Which is true. Jungkook hasn’t reported anything out of the ordinary. Youngjae has returned to work and from what Jungkook can understand, he’s fine (which Yugyeom has taught him to be the acts of smiling and laughing, at the very least). 

But then Youngjae doesn’t come to the coffee shop in two weeks, and now Mark is worried, too. He can sense his friend’s resentment building with each passing day. With his birthday nearing, too. But Yugyeom refuses outright when the elder suggests they take a trip to the grocery store. 

“If he doesn’t want to see us, I’m not going to disturb his peace,” he says, loud and stubborn, drowning out Mark’s pleas, “It’s like you said, hyung, we have to respect others’ choices, right?”

Mark only sighs and doesn’t speak of it again. 

-

It’s a Friday evening, a little more than two weeks since Youngjae left, two days before Yugyeom turns nineteen. Mark and Yugyeom are flicking through channels when the glass door leading out onto the balcony shatters and there’s the thud of an invisible body on the floor.

Mark lets out a yell, but Yugyeom, used to seeing Jungkook’s ways of expressing himself, leaps to his feet. “Jungkook?!” There’s a flash of violet light and the two friends see the purple blossom of a gladiolus on the pieces of glass. 

Yugyeom turns back to Mark, who has gathered himself. There’s urgency in his eyes and Mark nods. The faery snatches up the flower and vanishes. 

Mark’s heart hasn’t stopped pounding and he looks at the wreckage of the door despairingly. A gentle breeze plays with his hair, but he can’t stop thinking about Jungkook’s arrival, two hours earlier than he usually does. 

It can only mean one thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so! something's happened...


	4. Flee

Youngjae can’t do it. His pen shakes in between his fingers. He can’t do it.

He can’t write the reports for the past four days. 

_It’s not that hard_ , he tells himself firmly. “It’s not that hard. Just fucking _write_ them.” 

But he can’t. 

Furious with himself, he flings the pen at the opposite wall and tears the page out of his notebook. He crumples it up and drops it. 

“What are you doing, Youngjae?” he says in a horrified whisper, rocking back and forth on his uncomfortable hostel bed, hands pulling at his own hair. “What the fuck are you doing?”

His eyes fall on his nightstand and the little drawer where’s he’s stored the other reports he hasn’t been able to deliver. 

_You wrote those just fine, Youngjae. All you need to do is pick up your pen and put it to your book. That’s how writing works. You don’t have to think about—_

“ _Shut UP!_ ” He yells into the stale air. “Shut up, shut up, _shut up_ —”

A sob escapes him, realizing all too late that he’s crying again. How many times has it been just today? First in front of Mark, then Yugyeom—

He screws up his face. 

He can’t do this. He really can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he _can’t_ —

“F—uck,” he chokes out. “What the _fuck_?”

He doesn’t know what to do anymore. He doesn’t want to kill Yugyeom and Mark, but he has to finish his task if he wants to get back to the island. He doesn’t want to go back, but it’s the only home he’s known, albeit a harsh one. Jun is there. He misses Jun. He misses their training sessions and swimming and goofing off. It’s only been a month and a half and his life has changed so drastically. It was a simpler time six weeks ago. 

He can’t do this anymore. He’s spent so much time with them and they haven’t hurt him at all. Quite the contrary. Why was he sent here? Wasn’t it because they got reports of a rogue faery causing havoc, killing people? Yugyeom hasn’t hurt anybody at all. 

_Or am I just thinking that way because he’s brainwashed me somehow?_

But he knows Yugyeom wouldn’t. He can’t explain how he knows. He just does.

He also can’t return to Signixe without completing his mission. 

“Could I…not return, then?” he whispers hopefully. “Could I stay? I’ve never belonged there, anyway.”

_How long would it take before someone from Signixe found you, Youngjae? Don’t be stupid. You’ve been a part of them since you arrived on the island. You can’t leave Signixe, you know that’s not how it works. Signixe doesn’t let its people go. You know the only way to leave is to die._

He stares at his lightly bruised knuckles. “I could…I could run away.”

_Would Yugyeom even let you leave, now that he has his friend tailing you everywhere?_

He bites his lip. He hasn’t considered that. “I could still try.”

_…You could. But…_

And then Youngjae remembers what he heard the day he left. _“If he’s lucky, he’ll get himself killed. He won’t be a loss if he does.”_

Fury simmers under his skin at the memory. 

“Well, I haven’t,” he hisses, humiliated all over again. Wanting to prove himself is such a deep-rooted desire that it pushes his doubts to the back of his head. With anger blinding him, he convinces himself that he has to finish his job. No emotions, no strings attached. 

He retrieves his pen and opens his notebook.

-

His anger fuels him through the next week, but it’s losing its hold on him. He’s a walking shell and he’s begun to spark the concern of the people around him. Dahyun is worried, Minghao is worried but he’s too shy to ask, and a buff young man who goes by Jackson who lives in the room across the hall from his, has stopped him as he passed by to ask if he’s doing alright. 

“You look like you’re dead, dude,” he says, “you were fine a couple weeks ago, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but don’t bring the police up in here, yeah?”

Youngjae only shakes his head and locks himself in his room. 

He has several breakdowns over the course of the next week, all safely in the privacy of his room. More often than once, he’s only just barely made it inside, bolting down the corridor, gasping for air and clutching his chest, before sinking onto his knees. The floor is the one thing he can rely on. 

His thoughts are no less organized than when he returned after his stay at the faery’s home. 

No new ideas pop into his head. He goes in circles, the same cycle playing out again and again until he’s driven mad by their persistence. 

He hates Signixe. 

He knows this much now. For certain. 

He’s also certain that they would find him wherever he tried to run. He remembers the unfortunate fellow who had been banished when he was younger. What had _he_ done?

Had he done the same? Had he tried to run away, disgusted by the way he’d been raised to slaughter? Had he betrayed the clan somehow? Revealed their location, perhaps? 

_No, that can’t be,_ Youngjae thinks, _we’d have a war if it was true._

But maybe in another way? Had he refused the viewing room? Had he… _seen_ what was inside it? Like Youngjae had?

He swallows, nervous. What would happen to him if word got out that he knew? Were those creatures in contact with the outside world at all? Would the leaders know that he had intruded? 

_If they had, they would have arrested you by now._

So, what _had_ that man done? A thought occurs to Youngjae: had he, perhaps, _sympathized_ with a supernatural? Even…fallen in love with one?

An uneasy feeling creeps up his neck, for reasons he can’t fathom. 

He kicks his foot angrily and his heel hits one of his suitcases under his bed.

He doesn’t want to stay here any longer. 

-

“Hold your horses, I’m coming—oh, hey, uh, Youngjae, right?” Jackson has a wide genuine smile and it tempts him to return it. He lowers the hand he’d been using to knock insistently at the door. “You still look like shit, man. Can I help you somehow?”

It takes him several seconds to gather his thoughts, so he doesn’t reply at once. He thought he’d been prepared. Jackson is peering curiously at him. 

“Take your time, buddy,” he says calmly, opening the door wider. “Wanna come in and sit down?” 

Youngjae shakes his head quickly, words coming back to him. “No, I, uh, I just—wanted to ask if, um. I could—” He breaks off, embarrassed and clears his throat. “If I could borrow a lighter.” He knows Jackson smokes, the smell sticks. 

His neighbour narrows his eyes. “Please, for the love of God, tell me you’re not going to like, set yourself on fire or anything.”

“No!” He barks out a nervous laugh. “I just—wanted a smoke.” 

Jackson’s expression clears and he guffaws loudly. “Thank fuck. I mean, no, not because you want to smoke, honestly dude, don’t get into that shit, it’s not easy to stop, take it from me. But like, still,” and he pats down his pockets, “thank fuck. You got some cigarettes or nah?”

He actually doesn’t, and Jackson tosses him a lighter but carefully pulls out only two cigarettes from an opened pack, because, “I’m not gonna be the one who gets you addicted.” 

Youngjae accepts them politely, thanking him and assuring him that he’d return it soon. Jackson waves a hand and tells him not to worry, to take his time. 

Youngjae closes his door and leans against it, sagging in relief. 

-

The cigarettes and the lighter remain on his night table for the next three days and they’re all he can think about as he walks to and from work. He has to admit, he thought—he hoped—that Yugyeom or Mark would show up at the grocery store, at least to buy something. 

He thinks just one conversation with them could change his mind. 

But they don’t come. 

By Thursday afternoon, he’s made his decision. 

-

He takes the reports he’s carefully folded up in the table drawer, gingerly picks up the lighter and goes into his tiny bathroom. He turns the shower on and stands under it, making sure the papers don’t get wet.

He flicks the lighter on. 

The corners of the sheets go up in flames and he watches, numb, as the ashes fall to the tiled floor, waiting to be carried away by the water spray. 

One by one, the reports disappear into the drain. There’s a thick, heavy smell of smoke diffused by the water and he lets himself out to get fresh air. 

His gaze falls to the cigarettes on the table and then to the lighter in his hand. He picks one up. It feels nice between his fingers and his teeth. 

His shoulders slump. 

He flicks the lighter on.

-

Friday, there’s a shift in the atmosphere. He can tell that Dahyun knows something is wrong, that something deep within him has broken permanently. He knows his eyes can’t hide him. She smiles at him a little sadly and hugs him just a little tighter when the clock strikes five. 

He returns Jackson’s lighter and there’s a pang in his chest that he can’t describe. 

His suitcases are open and his room stripped bare.

His fingertips tremble as they slip across his uniform. It was only for one purpose, to wear as he sailed home after his victory. In hindsight, he doesn’t know why the hell he even brought it. He’s no victor. He’s a coward, and he’s running away. 

He doesn’t deserve to see the Signixe seal any longer. 

_You don’t deserve to be haunted by it any longer, Youngjae._

-

Youngjae has never been to a train station before. He’s read about them and seen pictures of them, and he expected the platforms to be packed, full to bursting with people eager to go home, and some dreading their departure back. He doesn’t realize that the movies he’s seen are mostly centred around holiday seasons. 

So it gives him a shock when the platforms are nearly empty. _It must be the time_ , he thinks, glancing at the clock on the wall, _it’s too late for people to be travelling_. 

Youngjae grips the strap of his backpack tighter. He hates that he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know where he’s going, doesn’t know when control will be returned to him. This is a chance he has to leave, to break away from the terrors he’s been subjected to until now. But he also knows that freedom is only a dream of the prisoner condemned for life. He’s never going to be free. If he does manage to leave tonight, he’ll spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, wondering when Signixe will catch up to him. He’ll spend it drowning in nightmares and guilt. But he knows he can’t stay, not like this.

The tracks look menacing, glinting sharp in the lamplight. The platform gap is dark and deep. Part of him wishes he could fall into it and hope the ground swallows him up. 

He can’t kill them. Not anymore. He wonders how he could have thought he ever could. 

Why is this different? 

He’s killed supernatural creatures before. Perhaps not faeries, but some shapeshifters at least. He’s slaughtered a lone goblin before. _But the shapeshifters weren’t on purpose_ , he remembers. He’d been on his first hunt and lost himself, separated from the group, alone in the darkness of the forest. He’d heard movement and growling, and he’d shot his arrows into the bushes. 

Three of them. He’d been congratulated and praised for this feat and he rode the glory for as long as he could. The goblin was his first use of his cunning. 

Why is this different?

_It’s different because you never bothered to understand them_ , he reasons. _You never bothered to see them as creatures of the earth, just like humans. You never tried to understand how they’re just trying to survive—it’s not their fault they’ve been cursed with magic._

Is magic a curse? It must be, if there are more people trying to destroy it than those who appreciate it. What does magic do, anyway?

There are more people on the platform now, he realizes. The train must be arriving soon. 

He spots a young man sinking onto the bench. He’s dressed heavily and done his best to cover his face. He drops his bag at his feet and tugs his hood up nervously. Youngjae can’t see his eyes, but he seems like he’s glancing around the platform. His shoulders remain drawn up and tense. He’s running away from something, or someone. 

Youngjae feels pity for him. He’s doing the same thing. And he feels ashamed of himself. 

He thinks about Dahyun and Minghao and how they don’t know he’s leaving. He hasn’t resigned, hasn’t told his boss about anything. He can text them later, if he needs to. Maybe he should. He doesn’t want his face on ‘missing’ posters and the police after him. He feels guilty because they’ve made him comfortable in his workspace and he’s running away without telling them. He thinks about Jackson and how he hasn’t vacated his room. He still has his key. He’ll fling it out a window once he’s on the train, somewhere he can’t go back and get it, so he can’t be tempted to return. His room probably still smells like smoke. His neighbours will start to wonder after a few days and maybe they’ll break down his door and find his uniform. He feels guilty because Jackson was only concerned and he’s running away without a ‘goodbye’. 

He shouldn’t feel so guilty. He’s known these people for barely two months. 

His breath stutters. 

Two months. That’s right. He’s only been here for two months and everything feels like eternity already. He didn’t even make it to four months, like Hyunwoo and Wonho. 

But from that shame rises relief. 

That means…no one in Signixe will tail him until then, right?

Yugyeom’s face floats in front of his eyes. His heart clenches and face twists. There’s someone he doesn’t want to think about. Mark, either. He’s spent such a significant amount of time with them, emotionally. From bumping into Yugyeom’s coffee to Mark teaching him video games. 

They’re _fae_ , Youngjae. Why are you so attached to them? You not being able to kill them is one thing, but why do you want to stay when it comes to them? Do you think you’ll ever fit in? They are magical, you’re not. No matter how much they care about you, you will never truly be a part of them! Why are you even thinking about it? They haven’t even trusted you with the fact that they’re fae, what makes you think they keep you around for your company? 

_I don’t think they’re going to hurt me. Maybe they don’t tell me because they want to protect me. They are being hunted, after all. Maybe…the less I know, the better?_

The dagger in his chest angles a little differently and Youngjae refuses to believe what it’s telling him. He’s _not_ staying. 

And a little voice in his head says nastily, _but if Yugyeom told you to, you would?_

A loud blaring sound reaches his ears and he shakes himself out of his thoughts, his heart in his throat. The train is coming and he’s going to get on it. He’ll get on it and go wherever it takes him, away, away from Signixe and away from who he thought he was. And he’s not going to look back. 

The young man on the bench stands up and moves forward as the train pulls into the station. Youngjae hopes, briefly, that the stranger finds a place to hide. 

He thinks he hears someone call his name, but it sounds far too much like the way Jun called him that he ignores it. It’s just his mind. He’s hallucinating in the middle of this crisis. 

He grips the bar and prepares to hoist himself into the carriage.

“Youngjae!”

The force of that voice nearly sends him into paralytic shock, and he can’t respond because he’s being pulled back, off the train, onto the platform. He grabs at the bars but they slip from his grasp. 

He gets turned around and then he’s staring at Yugyeom. Eyes wide, desperate and confused. 

He can’t speak.

“Youngjae,” Yugyeom repeats and his voice cracks. “What are you doing?”

The expression in his eyes mirrors what Youngjae feels at the moment. _No,_ he thinks frantically, gaze darting from Yugyeom’s face to his iron grip on his upper arms to the train carriage, _not now, of all times!_

“No, no, _no!_ ” he yells, tearing his arms out of Yugyeom’s hands. “No, you can’t do this, not now!” And he lunges for the bars. “Don’t stop me—”

“ _Youngjae!_ ” Yugyeom’s fingers are warm against his cold ones where they’re trying to pry them off the bars. His feet get swept underneath him, and he falls to his knees, grip slipping and palms planted on the concrete platform. The train sounds its horn. 

Youngjae lets out an anguished wail, scrambling to stand, but once he does, there are arms wrapping around him, binding him. He doesn’t realize he’s crying. 

“I’m stronger than you—!” he cries, thrashing around, “I can—!” but there’s something stopping him, like invisible rope tying him down. The train begins moving and he sinks to the ground in defeat. “Please,” he begs, “let me go, please let me go, don’t stop me, _why are you stopping me?!_ ”

No one answers his pleading. The platform is empty save for them. 

When even the sound of the train vanishes, Youngjae slumps within the force that binds him, keeling over so his forehead presses into the floor. 

He’s failed. 

The hold on him slowly disappears, and with its disappearance comes his anger.

_Yugyeom_ is the reason he failed.

There’s silence for a solid few minutes. 

Later, Youngjae would think there was a sort of poetry about the situation—a kind of lovers’ quarrel on an empty train platform in the dark, still night, lit only by a single lamp, voices ringing loud in the silence—the sort of poetry that accompanies melancholy. 

He doesn’t feel any poetry in the moment. He’s breathing hard, fury coursing through him—the rational part of his brain knows that Yugyeom shouldn’t be subject to it, but he refuses to listen. Slowly, he stands, not looking at the boy his age next to him. 

“Youngjae?” comes his voice, soft, concerned, guilty.

“Why did you stop me?” he hisses, daggers in his tone. His fingers fist in the strap of his backpack and he’s trying his best not to lose control of himself. 

Yugyeom hesitates. “I—I was worried. I didn’t—”

“ _Worried?_ ”

He falls silent at the venom in Youngjae’s voice. 

Youngjae doesn’t turn to look at him. He doesn’t think he could keep his cool if he sees Yugyeom’s face again. 

“Why are you worried _now_?” he spits. “Why weren’t you ‘worried’ a week ago? Why didn’t you stop me then? Why come now, when I’d made up my mind?”

He doesn’t, _can’t_ say that if they so much as said hello to him, he would have returned to them—willingly. He can’t tell them who he is, and what a phenomenal decision he’d made to stay away. He can’t tell them that the price of staying would be their deaths. He can’t tell them about the ashes of the reports that he washed down the drain. 

He can’t tell them he knows who they are. 

He wants to tell them to leave him, to let him go, but he can’t do that, either. 

Youngjae _wants_ to stay. He _wants_ to be a part of them. 

Youngjae is already a traitor to Signixe and to his cause. 

“We _were_ worried a week ago,” his companion says quietly. “I thought you wouldn’t want to see us. To see me.”

_You thought wrong,_ he thinks, but dares not say it. 

He doesn’t realize he’s shivering until he’s being turned to face Yugyeom, until the faery steps closer to him and uncertainly pulls him into an embrace. 

Youngjae wants to melt in his hold, he wants to break down. He wants a safe place at last, somewhere he can cry all he wants, let out nineteen years’ worth of anguish, somewhere he won’t be judged.   
He plants his hands on Yugyeom’s chest and pushes, hard, and staggers backward a few paces. 

“No,” he says, finally looking up and willing all his rage to pierce through his eyes. “I won’t go back with you. I’ve made up my mind. It’s too late now. I can’t stay here anymore.”

“But why?” Yugyeom asks, sounding so small and broken that Youngjae nearly falls for it. “Has it been so horrible?”

He shakes his head, glaring up at the roofing sheets above him, trying not to succumb to his grief. “It’s not about you—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘it’s not you, it’s me’,” Yugyeom threatens, pointing at him. 

Youngjae’s throat is dry. “You don’t _understand_ , I can’t stay here, I can’t explain why but I just _can’t_ —”

“Youngjae-yah,” he breathes out. “Don’t run away from me.” 

If Youngjae could read minds, he would know the terror coursing through Yugyeom’s blood at the time. He would know the frantic flashes of thought in his head, conjuring up the worst scenarios. He would know Yugyeom’s doubts and fears, and he would see, more than once, his own dead body.

But he can’t see any of that. He only sees the depth in Yugyeom’s eyes, hears the compassion in his voice and the plea in his words, and he breaks down. 

-

Two months ago, Youngjae would have hung himself for the humiliation he’d just subjected himself to. This was no way for a hunter of Signixe to behave, mission or no mission. He would never have spoken to a supernatural like this, he would never have spent so much time in close quarters with them, he would never, ever have cried, much less in front of them. He would never have shown anyone how completely broken he’d become. 

But the thought in his head when he collapses to his hands and knees isn’t humiliation. It isn’t the shattering of his dignity, it’s desperation. He can’t ask for help, he’s never known what that’s like—but he wants someone to help him, he wants Yugyeom to make him forget what he’s done, where he’s come from, why he’s here. He just wants to live like a normal person, _why couldn’t he have been born as a normal person?_

Youngjae is dazed the whole journey back. He hardly registers moving. He just might be going mad. 

He’s drifting in and out of consciousness when he hears Mark’s voice. He tries his best to blink, to keep his eyes open, but he’s so…tired all of a sudden? Did they drug him? He wants to speak, wants to ask, but his brain is so sluggish by now that he stumbles and things go black—again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i might be depressed again

**Author's Note:**

> So...what do you think about this concept? Personally, I think Youngjae as a hunter is hot af, he's the confident king we all aim to be.


End file.
